


Nodus Tollens

by Laora



Category: Subarashiki Kono Sekai | The World Ends With You
Genre: Autistic Sakuraba Neku, Gen, Panic Attacks, Trauma Recovery, lots of hurt but also lots of comfort, only happy endings for the TWEWY kids in this house it just takes a while to get there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:06:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 35,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24144844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laora/pseuds/Laora
Summary: Neku Sakuraba—living, and not living, after the Long Game.
Comments: 92
Kudos: 88





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this fic has been my baby for MONTHS i am so excited to finally post it sdlfkjeofasdf
> 
> 35k words (just a weirdly short first chapter bc i liked the split), so buckle up!! i'll update twice a week, it's almost finished now
> 
> anyway, this fic is very self indulgent and personal. i first played this game a few months ago, and when i saw neku i immediately went "yes. this is my son, i will immediately project all my shit onto him"
> 
> thusly, autistic Neku with a panic disorder (and autistic Josh) is Best Headcanon and no one can take it from me
> 
> agender Rhyme, tall Eri, and half-european Bitous are also good things in this fic bc I love them
> 
> \---
> 
> chapter warnings: description of canonical (temporary) character death

_**Nodus Tollens:** the realization that the plot of your life doesn't make sense anymore_

* * *

He lies sprawled on the floor of this Room of Reckoning, and he knows it’s Shibuya’s lifeblood that seeps from his veins. Joshua laughs, and Neku’s ruined ribcage rattles, and Joshua turns away, and Neku’s fingers twitch toward the Partner he could never, in any lifetime, bring himself to kill.

 _Trust your Partner._ What if your Partner has killed you twice, now? Pointed a gun right at you and pulled the trigger with a smile? What happens then?

What happens to Shiki and Beat, his Fee in any universe, now that he’s lost this brand new Game?

Mr. H is there. Of course he is. Neku coughs weakly, sending another shock of agony through his chest, and can’t bring himself to be surprised. CAT isn’t the Composer, but he’s still tied up in all of this somehow.

Nothing in his life can ever be simple, can it?

The blood is wet and warm on the stone floor beneath him, even as he thinks his body's starting to grow numb. What will Joshua do, now that he has gambled his city and _won?_ Will he destroy it, just like he destroyed Neku? Why wouldn't he, when it's all he ever wanted? 

Mr H is crouched beside him, now, maybe holding his hand except Neku can't quite feel those anymore. He stares at the ceiling as it spins above him, and thinks that this will probably be the last thing he ever sees. Maybe Mr H is talking, too. Between the blood flowing sluggishly through his ears, between the Noise growing in his head and all around him, he cannot tell.

He is staring at the ceiling, and then he is staring at Joshua. "You're still alive," he says, his voice cutting through the haze clearly. Neku would blink at him, if he weren't so sure his eyes wouldn't open again. He thinks there's something like surprise, there. 

He wants to say something snarky back. He wants to call him an asshole like he did last week. (Just last week? It feels like a lifetime ago.) He wants to tell Joshua exactly what he will miss when Shibuya is gone, because he can tell, now, that the city is _vibrant_ and _beautiful_ in a way he has never known before. 

Maybe it's the blood loss. Or maybe it's the Game, opening glorious new worlds to him in the worst way possible. 

He opens his mouth to say these things, and instead retches blood down his chin in a way that only increases the crushing pressure in his chest. Mr H is moving beside him, saying something his mind refuses to follow. Joshua shifts, his body too tall from Neku's angle, his hair unnaturally bright. His vision only grows worse. 

"Prove me wrong," Joshua says, his voice echoing clearly in Neku's dying mind, and he thinks his Partner lifts one hand. 

* * *

He wakes in a pile in the Scramble as the sun sets, and he's screaming even before he remembers why. 

He pushes himself to his feet even as his chest _burns_ , and he clutches at it as he stares around. He's breathing heavily, trying to re-oxygenate the body that was so recently dead of blood loss, and even through his headphones the world is _overwhelming._

He stares around for several moments, trying to get his bearings. It is several moments longer before he realizes that people are staring back. 

His first thought is _there’s a lot of Players this week_ , and then his second thought is _why are they holding a Game at all—?_

And then those thoughts are chased away by the fact that he can feel his heart beating erratically in his throat, that the feeling of _nothingness_ that has dogged him for nearly a month has suddenly disappeared. He holds tighter to his shirt, gaping around at the half-dozen people who have stopped to stare, and he realizes that he is _alive_.

“You all right, kid?” a salaryman asks, a little frown between his brows as he takes a tentative step forward. A young mother pushes her stroller hastily by, sending him a furtive glance that says she’s frightened of whatever she sees on his face.

It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because she can see him, she can see him at all and—

* * *

He _runs_.

His stomach cramps, and his eyes stream, and his legs shake, but he can’t stop. He’s in the RG again _—_ he was killed, twice, but he’s back here _—_ and what does Joshua think he’s playing at? What the _fuck_ is he doing alive when he knew he was throwing his life away _—_ throwing his _city_ away _—_ for his own cowardice and grief? 

When was the last time he ate? He and Beat ( _Beat_ , and something like ice shoots through his gut) were too worked up about Rhyme and the Game Master to make any pit stops yesterday. When was the last time he slept? Truly slept, not was just knocked out by whatever the Game deigned to do to the Players?

When was the last time he was truly able to _relax_?

(Standing before the mural, happy in a way he may never be again, wondering whether he’d ever be able to create art as beautiful as CAT’s, wondering what all that yelling is about and turning to look—)

His feet pound the street like he’s still in the Game, and he’s garnering more and more stares but he doesn’t care one bit. He doesn’t know where he’s running to. He just knows he needs to get _out—_

He finds himself on Cat Street without thought, shoving past the crowds and bursting out in front of WildKat. Mr. H was there, at the end. He’s _something_ , even if not the Composer, and surely he’ll be able to explain _—_

The sign on the door is flipped to Closed. The inside is wrecked, still, as if no one’s been inside since the attack.

As if Mr. H has never existed.

His throat’s closing up and his vision is blurring even more. His headphones block the people muttering around him but not the white noise growing in his ears, and he wipes at his face with shaking hands before taking off the other way, toward home.

It’s never been a place he can relax, not like the mural is (was). But at least it’s something familiar, something maybe-safe, and at least his parents never ask questions.

(It’s been three weeks since he died. Did they even notice? Did they even _care?_ )


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in the continued vein of "laura is projecting onto neku," he is touch-sensitive but is more okay with it if he is very familiar with the person, and has time to mentally prepare himself for it. but sustained touch is usually Bad except with like, a small number of people
> 
> chapter warnings: shitty parents, pov description of a nocturnal panic attack

His parents don’t come home that night, which is probably just as well. He’s hijacked the family computer as well as the phone book, trying to find _anyone_ who can tell him that what he just lived through was real.

There is not a _Sanae Hanekoma_ listed anywhere in Tokyo. Shiki Misaki isn’t an especially common name, but it’s not _uncommon,_ either—and he has no idea what she really looks like. Beat and Rhyme...Raimu Bitou doesn’t appear in any search results on social media, and he guesses they were probably a little young to be online, but for the life of him he can’t remember Beat’s given name—

He resorts to scrolling through MySpace endlessly, looking for a Shiki Misaki who maybe has Eri’s face in her profile picture. They’re best friends, right? Isn’t that what best friends do?

He doesn’t even know that she lived ( _lives)_ in Shibuya, or even _Tokyo_. She could have come in to go shopping, or eat. She could have even been on vacation when she—

He almost misses her. It’s such an unassuming profile pic, nothing like he thought such an ardent fashionista would use. But the sight of pink hair stops him short, and he leans closer toward the monitor, straining exhausted eyes, and—

_Yes,_ that’s a familiar face beaming out at him next to an utter stranger, and he wipes one hand down his face, rubbing at his eyes and biting at his tongue to choke down an embarrassing sob. It doesn’t matter that he’s alone in the apartment. It doesn’t matter that he’s just found a friend who might prove that he didn’t just imagine—

Her profile is set to private, and he sends a friend request with shaking fingers before collapsing back into the desk chair. His hair is unmistakable. If she remembers him, she should recognize his own profile picture in an instant. If she doesn’t…

Or if she didn’t make it back…

_“I’ve taken your latest Fee,”_ Joshua said with a smile and a flick of one wrist, and his friends disappeared like they had never existed at all. His Fee, after everything—after losing himself and the one friend he allowed himself to make and then all the friends he _could have made_ —was the people who shoved their way into his heart despite his protests, despite every wall he’s built up since he was a child and his first-ever friend—

He lost Joshua’s Game. By all rights he forfeited his Fee the moment that bullet shattered his chest. But he is still here and so _maybe—_

He stares at the computer screen until his eyes start to water, but Shiki doesn’t respond to his request. It’s late, by now, he tries to reason. She might be asleep, or she might actually have people who missed her and she’s busy trying to explain away _her own death._

Hell, she might be on the phone with Eri. After what he heard of their last conversation, he thinks they probably have a lot to talk through.

He stares at Shiki and her best friend—drinks in what few details this small profile picture will tell him of what his friend is really like. She’s short—much shorter than she was in the UG, comparing her to Eri—and she wears glasses. Her hair is cropped, and her true smile is the small, shy one he saw more often as the week wore on.

(How exhausting must it have been, to pretend to herself and to the world that she was someone she was never meant to be?)

* * *

He must have dozed off at some point, because the next thing he knows, his mother's harsh voice wakes him, disjointed and terrified, from a dead sleep.

_"Where have you been?"_

He wonders, wildly, whether he was wrong about his parents after all. Maybe his temporary death rattled some sense into them. Maybe they're ready to put in the effort to be decent parents, now. Maybe (he is desperate, and so he can readily admit it to himself if only it will earn him some support) they and his teachers and all the other adults were right, and he's just being a difficult teenager, and really his parents are trying their best.

But he spins the chair around, trying to blink sleep from his eyes for the first time in _three weeks_ , to see his mother's furious face. There is no shred of relief, or sympathy, or love. Her face is just the same as it always was when she looked at her contrary, _divergent_ son, and Neku feels himself shrinking back, wrapping his arms around himself as if that'll do anything to make him feel better.

"Out," he mutters in response, because it's what she expects of him, and he does not have the mental energy or the words to try and come up with a better lie.

"We haven't seen you in over a _week!"_ she says, her voice rising, and Neku sinks further in his chair. A week? Try _three,_ as his phone and the computer tell him that time passed normally for the rest of the world even while he lost so many hours in the UG. "Just because you're on school break doesn't mean—"

She keeps talking, and Neku keeps not listening, and eventually she finishes her tirade and retreats to her bedroom, slamming the door behind her. She probably warned him not to do it again. Maybe she even grounded him, as if she or his dad were ever around to enforce it. Neku sighs, and squeezes his eyes shut for several moments, and turns his music up a couple clicks.

When he turns back around to the computer screen and shakes the display awake, he has two notifications.

Shiki accepted his friend request.

She sent him her phone number in an IM with a "please call me" over an hour ago.

He swallows again, considers his capabilities right now, and decides that a phone call is not among them. So he starts a text to her, thumbs shaking over the buttons as he tries to decide what to say.

_This is Neku, can't talk on the phone right now,_ he says, and hopes it's vague enough that she doesn't pry. _I'm at home. Are you ok?_

_im fine,_ she responds immediately, and he rubs at his eyes in relief. Another message comes soon after. _i need to meet with eri today but we need to talk too. can you do tomorrow?_

_> >Sure_

(It's not like he ever has anything better to do.)

They agree to meet at Hachiko at noon, and then Neku is left staring at his phone, the screen long dark. The music pounding in his ears does nothing to calm his skittering heart.

A notification pops up on the computer and he jumps badly, unable to hear the chime but the Game's mission notification unconsciously echoing in his mind anyway. It's a friend request from an account that just calls themselves _Beat._

The photo is the default gray background, and the profile is empty when he goes to check it. But then, Beat doesn't seem one for social media, does he—?

_> >yo phones_

The IM comes up scarce moments after he hits _accept,_ and Neku's stomach does a funny tumble as Beat continues typing. _i get the right one?_

_> >Yeah, it's me. You ok? _

The image of Beat snapping out of existence next to Shiki—the image of one of his trusted Partners erasing the other two—refuses to leave his mind, and he's terrified to hear the answer. But after several seconds of no response he realizes it's a horrible question—Rhyme was _gone,_ they were nothing but Noise. Even if Mr. H turned them into a pin to keep Beat alive, there's no way they came back to the RG after all that.

Beat has to be a mess right now, and look at him, just sticking his fucking foot right into it—

_were great!!_ Beat says, and Neku blinks at the screen. _u free today?_

_Shiki can't meet until tomorrow,_ he types, and tries not to think very hard about what this means for him, for Rhyme, for _Joshua. we were gonna meet at Hachiko at noon_

_> >cool well be there_

The question lingers in the back of his mind. Neku knows he's going to go insane wondering if he doesn't ask now.

_> >We? _

_> >rhymes here too!!!!!!!! _

* * *

According to the clock, he slept for a good six hours in that uncomfortable desk chair before his mother woke him up.

He staggers back to his bedroom after exchanging phone numbers with Beat and Rhyme, and sleeps like a rock for another eighteen. He wakes up in a panic sometime around two in the morning, groggy and disoriented and feeling like shit. For the first half an hour or so, he works on steadying his breathing, pressing shaking fingers to the pulse point in his neck, convincing himself that he is _alive_ again.

_Ba-thump. Ba-thump. ba-thump-ba-thump-BA-THUMP-BA-THUMP—_

(It’s not working—)

He'd call Shiki (desperate enough to wake her from her own exhaustion, desperate enough even when he knows friends don't _do that_ to each other) but his throat is closing up, and he knows from experience that words aren't going to form, no matter how hard he tries. So he shoots off a text that he's going to regret when he's calmer ( _shiki im not ok im scared please help)_ and threads his fingers through his greasy hair, pulling at it in a feeble attempt to ground himself. The pain helps a little, but not nearly enough, and he feels his breathing escalate, feels the panic in his mind only spiral deeper.

What is he doing here? What is Joshua planning? What the _fuck_ kind of asshole murders a complete stranger, _twice,_ just to drop him back into the Realground like nothing ever happened?

He can't possibly get back to sleep. Shiki isn't responding. His breathing is ragged and his hands are shaking and there are tears falling down his face, and he thinks he recognizes this as a panic attack but that doesn't mean he can do anything about it.

The internet has told him he should try and distract himself. He should take a shower, open a window, drink some water, talk to someone he can trust.

But he can't do any of those things when he's frozen on his bed, when he can't even open his eyes, when he couldn't possibly navigate to the bathroom or the kitchen without waking his parents—

He's long learned to ride this out, no matter how shitty he feels afterward. He gropes blindly for his headphones and throws them over his ears, switching on his MP3 to his favorite album and turning the volume all the way up. The music is too slow and too fast and all wrong but it is better than the Noise in his head, and he tries to breathe in sync with the beat, tries to lose himself in the music that has blocked out Shibuya for years.

It takes time. It takes more time than usual, but eventually he finds that he's able to relax his muscles, and loosen his grip on his hair, and wipe roughly at his sweaty face with one shaking hand, and briefly consider opening his eyes. It's a terrible idea, and he squeezes them shut again a fraction of a second later, but. It's something, and in the aftermath of such a bad attack, he'll take what he can get. For now, he breathes.

It's almost three in the morning, when he tries to open his eyes again several minutes later. _Awesome._

He's not getting any more sleep tonight, so he rubs at his face some more, and tries to distract himself, think of how to fill the time until noon. He turns on the lamp on his cramped desk, and briefly considers the clothes and bag he had thrown haphazardly to the floor the day before. The bag is full of pins, and accessories, and probably gross, stale snacks by now. He should probably clean it out before it gets even grosser.

The thought of touching any of that shit kinda makes him want to puke, though, so he shoves the bag further under his bed and decides to deal with it later. His hands are still shaking nearly as bad as before, and his mind is exhausted but wired for action like it has been for the last three weeks.

He is _so fucking tired,_ but there is no way in hell he's going to get back to sleep now. He checks his phone one more time for good measure (Shiki hasn't responded yet _she's ignoring you **she's asleep it's three in the fucking morning**_ ) before peeling himself up off the bed.

The kitchen seems a little too far away, right now. He decides to try for a badly-needed shower first.

* * *

He gets a flurry of texts from Shiki several hours later, after he's scrolled social media blankly for probably-too-long in an attempt to distract himself.

>> _neku im so sorry i was asleep  
_ _> >are you ok???  
_ _> >what do you need?? _

He should probably be embarrassed admitting the attack to her. He should probably regret texting her about it at all. But they've been through so much together, and—

>> _Panic attack. It's gone now but I never got back to sleep_

She doesn't respond for a few minutes, just long enough to make him doubt himself, but then a text fills the screen—

>> _have you taken a shower? drink some water, it sucks but i promise itll help. do you want to cancel the meeting today or move it up or anything? just let us know what you need ok? i can even come over, if itll help_

Something is rising in his throat, too quickly to swallow it away. Before he can do anything to stop it he is sobbing—great, heaving sobs that he has to muffle into his arm in a poor attempt to keep it from his parents.

The first and only time he told someone else about his attacks, he was ten. It was only a few days after his friend's funeral, and he woke up from a deep sleep more terrified than he had words for. He shook his mother awake, his voice dying in his throat but tears streaming down his cheeks.

She had rolled over after barely glancing at him, her face full of irritation, telling him that she had an early meeting and that he shouldn't have woken her. He had stayed up the rest of the night curled into a ball on his bed, sobbing and trying desperately not to bother his parents, wondering what was wrong with him.

His own mother had dismissed his attacks as a waste of her time, but a girl he's known for three weeks—a girl he tried to _kill—_ seems to get it in a way no one ever has. It's overwhelming and validating, and his words are still locked in his chest but he knows he needs to reply. But before he can formulate a thought, Shiki continues—

_> >im sorry if that was too much, i just want to help but i know im not the best at it. you can tell me to shove off if you want _

He sobs again, pressing one hand tight against his mouth. _Don't apologize,_ he sends first, short and to the point because she needs to know how much—

_> >Thank you for replying  
_ _> >I need to get out of the apartment   
_ _> >Can we meet earlier? _

_> >of course!! do you want me to let beat and rhyme know? does 9 work_

Of course they all found each other—probably yesterday, when he was busy sleeping his new life away. _Yes please_

_> >np at all  
_ _> >will you be ok until then? _

He glances to the clock—it's barely past seven now. _Yeah,_ he sends, and then _Thank you_

_> >np!! let me know if you need anything before then ok?_

_> >Yeah_

And then he flips his phone shut, sets it down on his desk, and revels in the warmth in his chest that isn’t only caused by his beating heart.

* * *

He gets to Hachiko at 8:30, because the longer he stays at home the closer his bedroom walls feel, and he’d much rather be out under the open sky. (Even when it’s all he had for three weeks.)

(Even when this was the place of his reckoning, three times over.)

He folds himself into a corner near the statue, headphones close over his ears, and tries not to look too much like he’s hiding as the square becomes busier. Sure, it’s summer break, but it’s a Monday morning, and there are plenty of adults making their way to work. He may be more accepting of them—he may want to understand them—but not right now. Right now, he is focused on not having a meltdown half an hour out from meeting his friends again.

(His _friends._ He hasn’t had a friend since— _)_

Beat and Rhyme are the first to show up, right at nine. Neku sees Beat’s beanie above the crowds, and takes a deep breath before standing. He tries for a smile that they both return readily, Rhyme’s sunny and Beat’s more than a little hysterical.

Rhyme is here. Rhyme is _alive,_ even when they lost the Game and were erased and then turned to Noise. They're both walking right up to him, wide smiles on their faces, and Neku doesn’t even flinch when Rhyme engulfs him in a hug.

“Thank you,” they whisper, almost too quiet for him to hear, and then Neku is hugging them back.

“Yo, watch it!” And then Beat is there too, pulling Neku into some kind of headlock, and Rhyme is laughing, and Beat is laughing, and then Neku is laughing, too. When was the last time he got a hug that wasn’t perfunctory and automatic? When was the last time someone touched him with true affection?

His skin crawls as the unfamiliar contact continues, and eventually he wriggles away from both of them. The smile stays on his face, though, and when Beat gets a good look at it, he laughs. "You okay, Phones?"

"Great," he says, and even means it. The noise of Shibuya still encroaches on his mind, and when Beat laughs again and slaps him on the shoulder it feels like it should be something dangerous and _bad,_ but. He's dealt with that for his entire life. Now, he has real friends at his side to help him through it.

"Beat, don't do that," Rhyme says, an admonishment in their tone. "Remember? Neku doesn't like being touched unexpectedly." Here, they turn to him, their face a little red. "Sorry for hugging you," they say, but Neku shakes his head.

"It's not so bad when I know you," he says, and Rhyme relaxes a little. "Just, a little notice is good, yeah?"

"Yeah," Beat agrees readily, leaning against the low wall. "Makes sense, 'specially after all that bullshit in the UG."

Neku decides not to correct him, though he sees Rhyme purse their lips, and he wonders at the fact that they seem to understand so many of his weird tics. They were in the Game together for less than four days—how did—

But there's an unexpected tap on his shoulder, and he jumps badly, turning around. It's a stranger standing in front of him wearing glasses and a green sweater, holding a familiar piggy with a familiar smile on her face—

This time, Neku doesn't hesitate to initiate the embrace himself. Shiki, laughing, never hesitates to return it.

And it's _different,_ even from Rhyme's and Beat's hugs—his skin still crawls, but not nearly as much. Even when Shiki buries her face in his neck and starts crying all over him, he doesn't feel the overwhelming urge to _get away._

There might be tears falling down his own face, settling into her hair. He decides it doesn't really matter, in the end.

He holds onto Shiki for probably longer than he needs to, except she doesn't seem interested in letting go, either. And maybe Beat is laughing at him, and maybe Rhyme's wearing a little smile of their own, but it doesn't really matter right now because Shiki is here, Shiki is _here_ when he took a bullet to the chest to ensure that she _died—_

The thought makes him tighten his grip on her convulsively, the piggy digging in uncomfortably under his ribcage, but it doesn't matter. Nothing matters except Shiki, in his arms. Shiki, alive and well. Shiki, exactly how she should be—

Eventually they must pull away but Neku finds his hand lingering on her shoulder, and he meets her watery gaze briefly with a surprising lack of anxiety. “You okay?” he asks, reflexively, and looks her over like they just got out of a nasty fight with some Noise.

She laughs at him, and squeezes his forearm before allowing her hand to fall. “I’m fine,” she says, but something like worry is creeping into her eyes as she looks harder at him. “What about you?”

That’s enough eye contact for now; Neku allows his gaze to fall. “Better now,” he allows, and she makes a small noise but lets the matter drop.

“So…” Rhyme starts, tentatively, taking a small step forward. “I feel like I’m probably missing something here.”

“Oh!” Shiki says, an apology all over her voice as she turns away from Neku. “It’s—me, it’s Shiki. My Fee was my appearance, in the Game, so. Um. This is what I really look like.”

Rhyme lets out an audible breath. “You didn’t tell me that,” they say to their brother, looking almost reproachful as Shiki laughs.

“I didn’t know!” Beat says, his eyes widening comically as he throws his hands out, and then Neku is laughing too.

Shiki turns to _beam_ at him, her face lighting up the whole plaza, and Neku feels himself relax like he has not in three weeks. “Ramen?” she asks brightly, and Beat _whoops_ as Neku readily agrees.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eri is 6 feet tall. no I do not accept constructive criticism
> 
> Chapter warnings: every single one of these kids has ptsd

Life, as it tends to do, moves ever on.

Three weeks, gone. Three weeks overwritten, three weeks of the blinding July sun forgotten in the blink of an eye. "You're behind on your summer homework," his dad says with an absent-minded frown, on a rare afternoon home. "did u have a good vacation???" from a guy he plays MMOs with, occasionally.

_It was real,_ say his friends, whenever a bolt of panic and dissociation hits him. On the street, in the middle of the night, it doesn't matter. _It was real, and we're still here, and you're not ever going to be alone again._

He gets flashes of another future, sometimes. A future where **_RECKLESS DRIVERS CLAIM RECORD LIVES_** makes headlines, where **_FOURTH TEENAGER DIES IN SHIBUYA IN TWO WEEKS_ **is plastered all over the papers. Did he ever stop to wonder why there were so many kids in the Game? No, he was just trying to survive—

**_FIFTEEN-YEAR-OLD SHOT DEAD IN UDAGAWA_ —**

~~(he tries very hard not to think about it)~~

He's adjusting as best he can. He's even, maybe, doing okay at it. And maybe he sees flashes of graffiti where it shouldn't be—hears Noise out of nowhere that bypasses his insulating headphones completely.

Maybe his adrenaline spikes for, seemingly, no reason at all, and maybe Shiki stares at him in concern, taking his hand in hers.

"It's nothing," he says every time, and every time she frowns at him. But so far she hasn't pressed—and he's not sure whether he's frustrated or grateful when, half the time, he still feels like he has one foot left in the Game.

* * *

**_MURDER AT CAT'S MURAL—FAMOUS INFLUENCER HAS YET TO MAKE A STATEMENT_ **

**_DRUNK DRIVER ARRESTED AFTER HIT-AND-RUN KILLS FIFTEEN-YEAR-OLD GIRL_ **

**_FUNERAL FOR SIBLINGS KILLED ON BUSY STREET_ **

Flowers on a street corner, flowers at an underpass, and _how often_ did they go to the mural and never see flowers at the place of his own death? How often did Neku take pride in the fact that no one in this world seemed to want to claim him?

Why is it only _now_ that he's started to care?

* * *

He always prided himself on being in his own world, blocked off from humanity by scowls and headphones and high collars.

He knows he needs to broaden his horizons. Mr H told him so, and Shiki told him so, and _Joshua_ told him so. (At least, that's the best he can figure when the bastard still hasn't shown his face, two weeks after the four of them were dumped _alive_ back in the RG.)

He needs to expand his world, but it's so _hard_ when the world is loud and fast and, often, too overwhelming for him to keep up with.

* * *

_"Eyewitnesses say that Daisukenojo tried to save Raimu by shielding them with his own body—"_

_"Shiki was such a pleasure to have in class—her handiwork was beyond compare. Her best friend, Eri, is inconsolable—"_

_"CAT has finally come out of the woodwork, mourning the young man killed while admiring their art. They are calling for a full investigation into his death, and rumors of a memorial are already spreading through Shibuya—"_

* * *

Meeting Eri is—it’s weird, but it’s _good,_ like really understanding Shiki requires them to know her other half as well.

Eri’s just as he thought he knew Shiki: bright, and outgoing, and a full head taller than her friend, edging out even Beat in height. But when he looks closer, she holds herself differently—more straight-backed and confident, her smile bright and more carefree. “Shiki’s told us all about you,” Rhyme says with a broad smile as they bounce on the balls of their feet, and Shiki blushes, and Beat takes a moment too long staring between the two of them, a frown on his face. Eri’s smile slips, a little, and she glances between the three of them, obviously worried she’s not making a good impression.

“Seriously, it’s good to meet you,” Neku says, and his smile comes more naturally by the day. “I’m Neku.”

“Oh, so _you’re_ the one Shiki won’t shut up about,” she says, her face brightening again as she throws an elbow up to rest on her friend's head. It's an easy, familiar movement, and Shiki barely flinches even as her blush grows impossibly brighter. “See, we’ve known each other since middle school, so just let me know if you ever want any dirt, all right—?”

_“Eri!”_

Neku is laughing again, and Eri is laughing, pulling Shiki even closer, her arm dropping down to drape around her friend's shoulders instead. “I’ll remember that,” he says eventually, and Shiki pouts at him as Eri reaches up to ruffle her hair.

“I haven’t told her,” Shiki says later, when Eri’s excused herself to the bathroom. Neku raises an eyebrow in question. “It’s—it’s _hard,_ and none of you have actually had to explain this, right? I don’t even know where to start—“

“Dude, she _loves_ you,” Beat says emphatically, and then a moment later flushes bright red. “Not—like _tha’,_ y’know, jus’—“

“I think what he _means_ to say,” Rhyme says, several seconds after he sputters into silence, “is that it’ll be fine! You’re really close. She’ll probably be upset that it happened to you, but—“

“Yeah!” Beat butts in, nodding quickly. “You’ll be fine!”

“She’s just—she’s asking a lot of questions,” Shiki says, sinking a little lower into her seat. Almost a month of seeing her like this, and Neku’s still surprised, sometimes, at the way emotions display on her face. “She wants to know where I was, and how I met you guys, you know?”

"You could just tell her straight," Neku suggests, and Shiki looks at him like he's sprouted a second head. "I mean, if you're telling her, there's not a lot of point to beating around the bush, right?"

"Probably," she says, a little quieter, but Eri's heading back toward their table—and Neku knows they'll need to continue this later.

* * *

(He’s doing okay—)

They’re over at Eri’s for the afternoon, a few days later. Someone threw on the TV for background noise, except it’s showing that stupid American show everyone’s been fawning over, recently. The gunshots that emanate from the surround-sound speakers are sudden and unexpected. They’re deafeningly loud with his headphones abandoned on the coffee table, and Neku—he _freezes,_ and everything _stops_ right where he left it because suddenly Joshua is standing over him with a gun, CAT’s mural at his side, his heart pounding in his ears. He’s staring at the ceiling of that awful chamber, copper in his mouth as he’s choking on blood, trying and failing to _breathe,_ and—

And wait, which time was that again—?

Someone’s gripping his arms tight enough to hurt, tight enough to bruise, and it’s only then that he blinks and sees that everyone has converged around him, their faces pale. Beat’s strong grip is the only thing grounding him in reality as his friend hovers only inches from his nose; Rhyme is rushing back into the room, a glass of sloshing water in one hand; Shiki and—and a shorter girl with glasses he doesn’t recognize are hanging back, looking scared—

More shots ring out and he cowers away from the noise, his hands trembling violently as he reaches to cover his head. “Turn tha’ off, yo!” Beat says, too loud, and Shiki scrambles to comply. Then, the room is quiet except for Neku’s own breathing, loud and heavy and labored, and the echoes of gunshots and laughter and _assholepartnerfriend_ echoing through his mind.

He feels like, if he had a pin in hand, he could burn down half the building right now.

“Phones,” Beat says, loudly, and maybe he lost some more time because Rhyme has put the glass of water in front of him, now, and is hanging back with Shiki and the other girl. It’s—he feels like he should recognize her but his brain is scattered right now and he can’t focus on anything, let alone strangers, let alone forming words in his throat when all he wants to do right now is puke—

And then he _does,_ all over Beat’s shirt. His friend recoils a bit but doesn’t let go of his arms, only shaking him slightly again as Shiki dashes out of the room. He blinks and then she’s back with damp towels, one going on Beat’s front and the other on the rug between them—

“Neku, _breathe,_ ” Beat says, and the fact that he’s calling him by his name is jarring and _wrong_. “You’re _fine,_ yeah? Is just tha’ stupid show—“

Beat is here, and both times he was shot, he was alone with Joshua—and this, of all things, starts to ground him—though he's moved his hands over his ears, and his eyes are squeezed shut, and he’ll be surprised if he can say another word all day. “All that shit’s done,” Beat says, his voice lower, and Neku _breathes._ “That math geek ain’t gonna bug you again, yeah?”

He's got it all wrong but Neku cannot possibly correct him—so he curls tighter, and breathes, and tries to focus on the weight of Beat's hands. His skin crawls but it's infinitely better than flying off again into his own mind, and right now his friend is the only thing keeping him from a full meltdown.

He does not know how much time passes, but eventually his heartbeat and his mind calm enough that he can open his eyes. Beat—stubborn, steadfast Beat—hasn't moved from his position, gross shirt and all. Rhyme is standing just behind him, wringing their hands, and he _hates_ to see that scared, scared look on their face. And Shiki is sitting with the stranger on the nearby couch, practically on top of one another, and Shiki is petting the stranger's hair—

(No, that's not right, how could he have fucked that up so badly—)

He blinks a few times in rapid succession, and makes an attempt to focus on Beat’s chin. His friend lets out a heavy breath. "You with us?" he asks, his voice low, and Neku nods, a little bit. His gaze slips back down; his arms fall bonelessly to his lap. "You need anythin'?"

He swallows, and grits his teeth, and can't force himself to say a single word. "I brought you some water," Rhyme says quietly, and gestures to the coffee table. "Will that help?"

Probably—and yes-no questions are ones he can deal with. He reaches with one shaking hand for the cup, and takes small sips that he hopes will not upset his roiling stomach further.

"What _was that,_ Neku?" Shiki asks—and it's the _real_ Shiki, the way she's _supposed_ to look, and he can't bear to look up at her for making such a terrible mistake. "You—that was _scary,_ you know?"

He stares into his cup, and doesn't answer, and Beat shakes him a bit. "Don't be goin' back there," he warns. "It's fine, yeah? We're not gonna let you get hurt."

He nods, a little, and tightens his grip on the cup. Eri leans forward tentatively. "It...it was the gunshots, right?" she asks, her voice very small, and Neku forces himself to nod again. "I'm so sorry, I didn't—I didn't know you would react so badly to them, that show is _full_ of them! If I'd known—"

"It's okay," Beat says immediately, his grip firm even as he turns to Eri. "It's—its concentrated, see—"

_Complicated,_ Rhyme corrects quietly, and Neku would join them if he were in any state to do so. "Yeah," Beat agrees, "and—I'm not real sure how to explain it."

Everyone’s gazes flicker automatically to Neku, but this is absolutely something he cannot deal with right now. The silence only stretches longer, and he shakes his head violently. A pounding headache is starting to form behind his eyes, and every time he breathes, pain radiates from his chest where a bullet once shattered his ribcage. Of _course,_ being shot by the god of Death doesn't leave him unscathed. Of _course—_

“Okay,” Shiki says after several moments longer, and then again. “Okay. Neku, do you want to go home?”

The thought of being alone is overwhelming. His dad’s on a business trip (again), and his mom—well, she’s probably working long hours, like always. It’s not like she’d provide any sort of support even if she were there. He shakes his head, as vehemently as his growing headache will allow. “Okay,” Shiki says immediately. “Would you like to stay here?”

That—that’s a harder question, and he hesitates because his gut reaction is _yes_ but he doesn’t want to intrude on Eri or her family. Hell, they’ve known each other for all of four days, and he’s sure Eri doesn’t want a stranger—especially one so fucked up—hanging out in her living room—

“It wouldn’t be a problem,” Eri says immediately, as if she can read his mind. “My parents are really chill, you know? It doesn’t matter how long you need to stay. I’ll just tell them you’re too sick to be by yourself, and that your parents are out of town. It’s not even a lie.”

With that permission out of the way, he doesn’t hesitate to nod, and Shiki lets out a deep breath. “Okay,” she says, and stands as well, stepping to be level with Beat. “Let’s hang out here for now, and see if you start feeling better. Is there anything you’d like to do?”

He freezes again, his heart rate picking up—she can’t possibly expect him to make a decision, not now when he’s—“Yes or no questions only!” Rhyme says brightly, and if he had the presence of mind, he’d wonder again how they're so good at picking up on this. “Doesn’t seem like he’s ready to talk yet, right?”

“Oh!” Shiki says, and he can imagine her blushing though his gaze is firmly fixed on the towels, still lying on the floor in front of him. “Right, okay. Do you want to get cleaned up? Eri’s got an older brother at college—he’s probably got some clothes lying around that you and Beat could borrow, while we throw yours in the wash.”

“Yeah, definitely!” Eri says immediately, and so Neku nods. Beat hesitates before finally letting go of his arms, and it’s not as disorienting as Neku is expecting. It’s several seconds longer before he attempts to stand—and Beat’s hand shoots back out, obviously wary of him falling—but he gets his feet beneath him.

Eri directs them toward the bathroom, promising to raid her brother’s closet, and he only stops along the way to retrieve his headphones.

* * *

“How’re you feeling?”

Shiki’s sitting at the desk in his borrowed room the next morning, leaning forward with a little frown on her face. Both of them spent the night—Neku in Eri’s brother’s room, and Shiki crashing with Eri as, apparently, they do all the time.

“Better,” he says, his voice small but audible, and he sees Shiki light up in his peripheral vision.

“I’m glad!” she says, and bunches her skirt more firmly into her fists. “Um, I don’t want to press, but—seeing you like that, it was really scary. Like, _really_ scary. I thought you completely shut down, you know? Beat was yelling at you, but you weren’t responding, and…”

She swallows, and turns her head for a moment. “I know I missed a lot,” she says eventually, more quiet. “The calendar said it was three weeks between when the Game started and when I woke up. Is there anything you’re able to tell me?”

He breathes for several moments, trying to organize his thoughts enough to even begin to answer that question. “Don’t answer if you’re not comfortable!” Shiki hurries to say. “I just...I have a lot of questions, you know?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, and swallows. After he dragged her into the messes that were his second and third Weeks, she deserves this much, at least. “Um, basically, I played the Game again. Then,” he swallows again, and wills his hands to stop shaking, “that Game got thrown out, so I had to play _again._ At the end of that Week was when you met me and Beat in the sewers.”

_“What—“_

“Um, a lot happened,” he says. If he stops now, he’s not sure he’ll be able to pick up the story again. “But I remembered how I died.”

He hesitates, here, because the Composer and Joshua and all of that is not something he can deal with right now. Shiki's face falls in horror. “You were shot? Is that why…?”

She trails off, and he nods, his throat closing up. “But you’re okay now,” she hurries on, leaning forward in her chair to better catch his eye. “You died, just like me, but we’re fine now, right? That _Composer_ guy brought us all back to life because we won!”

“Sure,” he agrees, a little choked. But it’s not just _magically_ okay now. He’s seen her triple check in all directions before crossing a street. He’s seen her stay on the innermost part of sidewalks, the furthest from the curb. They’ve both seen the way Beat and Rhyme avoid streets with car traffic at all, if they can, and almost compulsively check the pavement for Noise sigils that will never be there again.

They’re alive, but they’re not _okay,_ and he wonders nastily why Josh couldn’t have just wiped that bit from all their memories, as well.

“We’re gonna be okay,” Shiki amends, and Neku blinks a few times at the certainty in her voice.

“Hopefully,” he says quietly, and then Shiki stands.

“Let’s get some food in you,” she says, the strength he’s (selfishly) come to expect from her behind her tone as she holds out a hand. “Eri’s mom makes the _best_ pancakes, you can’t stay here without trying them. Sound good?”

He only hesitates a moment before taking her hand, allowing her to pull him up. Her grip is warm and firm before he pulls his hand away. “Sounds good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shiki and eri are hella gay I don't make the rules


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: anxiety attack, inducing harmful stimming (scratching)
> 
> I get both panic and anxiety attacks myself and they're different but I don't know how to? Properly articulate HOW they're different? So yea idk, again a lot of what I'm writing here is me writing personal experience i hope it makes sense

Sometimes he sees flashes of wings, of graffiti-covered hoodies.

Sometimes, he wonders if he’s going insane.

Once— _only_ once—he catches Kariya's eye as Uzuki chews him out on a street corner. He's strangely glad to see them up and about, after the last time he saw them cold and robotic, possessed and beyond reason. They don't look busy—it doesn't seem like there's a Game running, since Uzuki's screeches (unheeded by passers-by) seem to have something to do with ramen.

Kariya catches his eye, and an appraising look comes over his face—but then he catches his eye and _keeps it,_ and his gaze grows sharp and considering. He waves off Uzuki as he steps through _(through)_ the crowd, his lollipop falling to his side. His wings flicker in and out of focus behind him, sharp and dark and terrifying _._

A lump forms in Neku's throat, and he turns the other way and _runs._

* * *

"Have you seen any Reapers around?" he asks Beat, the next day. He figures, among everyone, he's probably got the best chance of success here.

But Beat gives him a funny look. "Reapers could be anywhere, yo," he says, tilting his head. "They go between the RG and UG whenever they want."

"Right," Neku says, "but I saw Kariya and Uzuki yesterday, and they had wings."

Beat's brows rise even higher. "I ain't seen nothin'," he says, and Neku's stomach drops. "But I'll keep an eye out, if it'll make ya feel better."

That night, though, he gets a text from Rhyme, outside of the group chat—

> _> Beat said you were asking him about seeing Reapers around town. Is that right? _

_> >Yeah. I thought maybe he could too, since he used to be one and all. But he said he hadn't seen anything_

_> >If he has, he hasn't said anything to me  
_ _> >And I haven't seen Reapers, but…  
_ _> >Sometimes, I think I see Noise. _

Neku stares at his phone, his grip on it tightening convulsively. It makes sense, but—

_> >I haven't told Beat, I don't want to scare him  
_ _> >But I just wanted you to know that you're not the only one  
_ _> >I wish there was someone we could ask about this. Is it normal? For people who survive the Game? _

_> >... I know one person. But last time I went looking for him, after I woke up, he wasn't there  
_ _> >Mr. H. He's the one that turned you into a pin and kept Beat safe_

_> >Could you try again? _

Neku stares down at his phone some more, and knows what the answer has to be.

* * *

The OPEN sign on Wildkat's door is bright and cheerful, and Neku's hands are shaking as he pushes his way inside.

"Phones! How've you been?"

The cafe is empty as always, and Mr H stands behind the counter like nothing ever happened. That ridiculous lopsided smile is firmly on his face.

"Alive," he admits, and against his better judgment collapses onto a stool. "Um, I have some questions."

"Maybe I have some answers," he says cheerfully, and Neku has the extremely unwise urge to punch him. He doesn't know what Mr H is, exactly, but he has enough power to keep Reapers in check. Punching someone like that is _probably_ a poor life decision.

"Why am I alive?"

Mr H nods thoughtfully. "Josh does what he wants," he says, and quirks an eyebrow at Neku's flinch. "He doesn't tell me everything. But, from what I can tell, you impressed him, at the end."

"He _killed me,"_ Neku says, and Mr H nods.

"Sure, but you didn't kill _him_ , even though he gave you every reason to do so. Like I said, Josh does some weird shit sometimes. But the way he talked about you? I haven't heard him that excited in _years."_

"He _killed me!"_ Neku says again, and slams a fist on the counter. "Twice!"

"Yeah, he did," Mr H says, and puts down his rag to lean over the counter toward him. Something like static tingles at the back of his mind, and Neku unconsciously leans back. "But then he brought you back to life— _all of you,_ if I'm not mistaken. Sorry, kiddo, but that's as much of an apology as you're gonna get from him."

He turns toward the percolator, then, and pours out a mug of coffee that he sets down in front of Neku. "Drink up," he coaxes, and Neku shakes his head.

"Not gonna pay for your shit-ass coffee—"

Mr H throws his head back and _howls._ "It's on the house this time," he promises with a near-feral grin, and Neku grunts. "What else you got?"

He grumbles, and takes a wary sniff of the steaming mug. It smells exactly the same as last time—a little burnt, and way too hot to drink without scorching his entire face off. Mr H takes a sip of his own fresh cup with a serene smile. "I saw Kariya and Uzuki the other day," he says. "They had wings."

Mr H cocks his head, at that. "Really?" he asks, actually sounding a little surprised. "Can't say that's normal, even for folks who get reincarnated."

"None of the others can see them," he says, "but Rhyme says they see Noise. Sometimes, I think I see it too."

"That, I'm less surprised by," Mr H says, nodding a little. "But if they want answers, they're gonna have to come ask for themselves."

Neku hums. He expected as much, but being blown off still rankles. “So why am I still seeing the UG?” he asks after another moment. He takes another wary sniff of the coffee: still too hot. “Is that Josh’s fault too?”

“Probably,” Mr H agrees, and Neku grunts. “You spent more time in the presence of the Composer than any other Player in living memory. I’m not terribly surprised there’s side effects.”

Neku continues to frown into his mug. “Who even _are_ you, anyway?” he asks abruptly, and starts drumming his fingers on the countertop. It’s a nervous tic that drives his parents nuts, but it's also one that he can’t stop himself from doing.

“Sanae Hanekoma,” he says, automatically, leaning up against the bar. “I gave you the rundown during the Game, but—“

“I don’t want the bullshit,” Neku says, and Mr H barks a laugh. “You’re not a Reaper, you don’t have wings. I thought you were the Composer, but that’s not true either. _What are you?”_

“It’s a secret,” he says, and Neku bristles at the sly grin on his face. “Only the Composer’s allowed to know that.”

“You know how _bullshit_ that sounds, right?” Neku challenges, and Mr H’s grin grows wider.

“I sure do. Doesn’t change the fact that it’s the truth.”

Neku’s face contorts, and he takes one last wary sniff of the coffee before standing. "I'll tell Rhyme to be as annoying as possible when they come over," he says, and Mr H laughs again.

"You do that, Phones. Have a good one, yeah?"

Neku rolls his eyes, but can't help the little smile that grows on his face as he walks out the door.

* * *

(He'll feel ridiculous for this later, probably—)

He sees Noise materializing in Hachiko's square, and he sees people appearing out of nowhere all around him. Something like power and terror and untapped potential is buzzing at the back of his mind as his hands begin to shake.

 _He's back in the Game._ He doesn't remember dying, but then, he didn't last time, either, now did he? Phantom pain slashes across his palm as the timer appears, and he hears phones ring all around him with a mission text, and he feels himself freeze even as he stares at his fellow Players. He doesn't—he doesn't have a Player Pin. He doesn't have _any_ pins, as he checks his pockets frantically—and he needs to find a partner before the Noise gets to him but—

But he watches the Noise consume an elderly man not ten feet from him, and Neku feels himself flinch away because surely it will come for him next—

Something bumps into his shoulder, harsh and sudden, and he can't help the choked scream that tears up his throat as he spins, one hand out, the psychs he needs far out of reach. But it's—

It's a woman, middle-aged, who steps back from him with eyebrows raised. "You okay, hon?" she asks, a little skeptical, a little worried, and he looks her up and down automatically. She'd do okay as a Partner—seems a little oblivious right now, which is worrying, but her paint-splattered hands suggest she might be an artist, which is a good sign for psychs. After all, he can get her caught up quickly—

"Hey, seriously," she says, and grabs for his shoulder. He jumps badly, trying to twist away, but she pulls him gently away from the middle of the square— _straight toward some Noise ready to rip his throat open—_

But they both pass right through the Noise like they're not in the UG at all. They haven't formed a pact yet, and he _stares_ as the woman sits him down on a bench, eyeing him critically as he rubs at his right palm, his leg bouncing frantically.

"Kid, can you hear me?" she asks, and he gets the sense it isn't for the first time as he looks around the area again. People are pairing off quickly, and the Noise is dissipating, and _he still isn't being attacked,_ and he doesn't understand—

"Hey," she says, and snaps her fingers in front of his nose. He jumps badly again, focusing on her face briefly. "Kid, what's your name?"

"Neku," he says automatically, and rubs harder at his hand, digging his fingernails in like he can claw the timer right off.

"Okay, Neku," she says and sits next to him, trying to keep eye contact. His gaze continues to skitter across the square. "Can you show me your hand, please? Did you hurt it?"

"No, we've gotta—"

She takes his hand—gently, but he's not expecting it—and he twitches away, trying to keep his space untouched. But her grip is strong, and she turns his hand palm-up to show—

There's no timer. _There's no timer,_ and the Noise isn't attacking him, and—

The fingernail indents and scratches in his palm are red and angry but he barely sees them—and when he takes another look at this woman she isn't wearing any pins either, even a Player pin, and—

And—

"Neku," she says again, softer, and Neku shakes his head sharply. "Neku, do you have someone you can call to come meet you? I know we don't know each other, but I don't want to leave you here alone—"

 _Shiki,_ is his first and only thought, and he fumbles for his phone. He has unread messages, but they're from Eri, planning a shopping trip where he'll be their pack mule—Beat, asking whether he wants to swing by to play Smash later—

There isn't a mission mail, and when he hits _call_ the line connects, and his hand is shaking too badly to hold the phone to his ear. It clatters into his lap and then to the ground. The woman hesitates before picking it up, switching it to speakerphone and holding it between them.

"Hey Neku, what's up?" Shiki opens with, and it's not Eri's voice like he was half expecting. It's her new-old voice that comes out of his phone, and before he can do anything to stop it, a sob escapes his lips in his relief.

"Neku?" she asks, her voice pitching up a bit, "What's wrong?"

"He's having a panic attack," the woman says, when Neku isn't able to form words. "My name's Satsuki, I ran into him over by Hachiko. Could you come meet us, please? He's not hurt, I'll stay with him until you get here, but—"

Distantly, Neku can hear movement on the other end of the line. "I'll be there in ten minutes," she says, and Neku finds himself scratching jerkily at his arms, now. "Neku, just stay with her, okay? I'll be there soon—"

"Yeah," he says, quiet but as loud as he can force his voice to go, and then Shiki is hanging up, and the woman—Satsuki—flips his phone closed.

"Focus on your breathing, okay?" she says quietly, and Neku takes a deep, shuddering breath in response. "You're scratching again. Can I hold your hands so you don't hurt yourself?"

He shakes his head violently, the mere thought of being touched by this stranger too much to bear. But he makes an effort to stop scratching, and slides his hands under his thighs. The pressure isn't nearly as calming, but he has enough sense to know that she's right.

"That's great," she says, warmth in her voice, and she sits back a bit. "I'm sorry for touching you earlier, I didn't want you to get hurt out on the sidewalk like that. I won't do it again without asking."

He nods, dimly aware that he should probably thank her, or tell her that it's fine, or say that she shouldn't worry about him. But the small, rational part of his mind wonders what would have happened if she hadn't helped him—if he was still standing out in the middle of the square feeling like he's vibrated right out of his body, terrified of Noise that, for some reason, is visible but harmless to him—

"Thank you," he croaks, and she huffs a laugh.

"I've had my share of panic attacks, kid. I'm not gonna leave you alone right in the middle of one."

They sit mostly in silence until Shiki finally arrives—running from the direction of the station, her face flushed, her bag slung haphazardly over one shoulder. "Neku!" she calls, nearly desperate, and he looks up.

"Neku, are you okay?" she says, dropping onto the bench beside him but refraining from touching him. He blinks a couple times, and tenses his calves to try and keep from bouncing them, and nods.

"He froze up in the middle of the square," Satsuki explains quietly. "I literally ran right into him. He's come down some since then, I think he'll be all right."

Neku nods again, distantly noticing Shiki's grip tighten on her bag. "Thank you for staying with him," she says, her voice wobbling a little. "We should be okay from here."

Satsuki nods, and stands up. "I hope you feel better, kiddo," she says with a smile and a little wave, and then she's gone in the crowds.

Shiki hesitates before scooting an inch closer to Neku, hunching in a little. "Are you okay?" she asks, and he nods again, a little stronger. "Are you up to talking?"

He considers this. "Yeah," he says eventually, very quietly, and Shiki lets out a shaky breath.

"Can you tell me what happened?"

He breathes for several seconds. His hands under his thighs are shaking, itching with the need for more stimulation, and eventually he pulls them free, shoving one through his hair and grabbing Shiki's hand with the other. "I—I thought I was back in the Game."

Her grip on his hand convulses, and she hesitates for several seconds, glancing up and around though Neku does not have the courage to lift his head. "You're still here," she says eventually, quietly, and squeezes his hand. "I swear you're still in the RG, we won't let anything happen to you."

"I saw—I saw Players, and Noise," he chokes out. "There was an old man, he—he got Erased right in front of me, and they all had Player pins, and I thought—"

He sobs again, an aborted little noise, and his free hand flies down from his hair to cover his mouth. "I thought I had to do it all over again," he whispers, and Shiki hesitates before pulling him slowly into a loose embrace.

"I'm right here," she says into his hair, and Neku does his best to listen and understand as he all but collapses into her arms. "It was just—you said you see Reapers sometimes, right? Maybe this is like that. You can see _all_ of the UG."

It makes sense. It makes more sense than anything else his jumbled brain has been able to come up with. It even has precedent, if what Mr H told him about Josh's childhood was true.

But that old man's terrified face as he fizzled out of existence is burned into his eyelids, and the thought of seeing the Game as a spectator is nearly as bad as being a Player himself. "I don't think I can do this," he says, and Shiki grips him tighter.

"Of course you can," she says. "We're with you every step of the way. You'll be just fine."

* * *

"Neku? How are you feeling?"

His head snaps up from Shiki's shoulder, where he thinks he must have lost some time. And in front of him is Eri, a couple shopping bags hanging off her arm. She’s clearly worried as she looks down at the two of them on the bench.

The two of them were out shopping when he called, then. Great, he ruined their whole morning—

"Neku," Eri says, a little louder, and he blinks back into the present.

"I'm okay," he says eventually to his knees, and even without looking up at her he can imagine the way she purses her lips.

"You wanna head back to my place? It's walking distance from here. We can at least get you some water and food, yeah?"

"That sounds really good," Shiki says instantly, and hugs Neku tighter for a moment before letting go.

"Thanks," he whispers, and allows Shiki to pull him up by the hand.

They walk mostly in silence. It's not exactly awkward (it's never awkward with Shiki, not anymore), but Neku finds that his hands are shaking, and the white noise growing all around him feels like it's pressing in until he's not sure he can catch his breath. He sees more than one pair of people sprinting through the Scramble, unheeded by anyone but him, and he can only swallow and grip Shiki's hand tighter.

“It’s okay,” Shiki tells him every so often, when his twitches get particularly violent and frightened. “You’re fine, you’re still here, all right? I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”

Eri keeps stealing quick glances back to them as she leads the way, a little frown growing on her face, but she doesn’t say anything until they get to her apartment building, in a less congested area of the city. “Let’s get you some water,” she says then, her voice chipper as she unlocks the door and ushers them in. Neku hears the lock click shut behind them, and the sense of security it gives him feels like a bucket of cold water. He’s safe, here. His friends will protect him, and there wouldn’t be any Noise or Players in the apartment, and—

And he collapses onto the couch as Eri busies herself in the kitchen. Shiki sits beside him, not once letting go of his hand, and watches him intently as he breathes. “Can I help?” she asks quietly after several seconds of silence, and in response he only squeezes her hand tighter.

“Here you go,” Eri says, bright, and _clinks_ a large glass of ice water on the coffee table. “Do crackers sound safe right now, or are you up for something bigger?”

He considers this for a few seconds. “Crackers,” he croaks, and Eri nods immediately, disappearing into the kitchen again. He slides further down the couch, tilting his head back against the cushions. “I’m crashing,” he admits after several seconds longer. He’s not sure that the words actually come out, but Shiki seems to understand him anyway; she leans forward, retrieving the water and holding it out to him.

“Drink some of this, then you can sleep,” she says, and then shakes him a little when he doesn’t immediately respond. “C’mon, Neku, just a little bit, okay?”

He grumbles something—even he doesn’t know what—and takes the glass in both hands, taking small sips for several seconds. It helps clear the dryness of his mouth and throat, but not much else, and he makes a face before passing it back to Shiki.

He’s asleep before Eri comes back.

.

.

* * *

.

.

Eri’s long given up on understanding Shiki’s new friends.

It’s why she’s able to keep her mouth shut when Neku has a full-on panic attack at the sound of gunshots—when Shiki mentions off-hand that he’s not sleeping well without explaining why—when they get a phone call on a Sunday morning from a near-nonverbal Neku, who says something when they arrive about a _game_ and _players_ and _noise_.

When she watches her best friend’s face go white as the conversation progresses, though, Eri thinks the last of her patience has dried up.

But Neku is clearly in no state to explain, and Eri knows better than to press him now. Instead, she spends maybe more time in the kitchen than she needs to, fussing over her parents’ breakfast dishes and pulling out a bowl for the saltines that she grabbed from the pantry. Her gamble pays off; when she finally comes back into the living room, Neku is passed out on Shiki’s shoulder, snoring a little. His face is maybe more relaxed than she’s ever seen it when he’s awake.

“That didn’t take long,” she says quietly, and Shiki cracks a wry smile.

“He needed it. Thanks for letting him crash here again, he’s…”

She trails off, just like she always does, and Eri frowns before sitting close on her other side, putting the crackers on the coffee table. “Is he okay?” she asks, her voice as gentle as she can make it, but her frown grows deeper as Shiki takes a shuddering breath, looking away.

“He’s healing,” she says after several seconds of silence, and smooths his over-gelled hair away from his eyes and her cheek. He barely twitches. “He, um. A few months ago, some bad stuff happened to him, but he’s getting better. It’s just gonna take some time.”

Eri thinks on this for a minute. “You guys met a few months ago,” she says slowly, and she hears Shiki’s breath hitch. “You never told me how you met him and the others, though.”

“I didn’t,” Shiki whispers, and her grip on Neku’s hand tightens. She hasn’t met Eri’s gaze once.

Eri looks at her best friend, and then she looks at the boy who’s been practically attached at her hip for the last three months. In nearly any other situation, she'd assume they were dating—but whatever their relationship is, it isn't that.

It's Neku trusting Shiki without question—tolerating her casual touch when everyone else makes his face twist in discomfort. It's Shiki smiling wider than she has in years whenever Neku meets up with them—learning to open up and _talk_ to someone when there's something wrong, when her mind starts spiraling in fear and insecurity.

It's the way their friendship burst from nowhere after Eri didn't see Shiki for _weeks,_ and she likes Neku well enough but he doesn't go to their school, he doesn't live in Shiki's building, and she has no idea how they could have even _met—_

She thinks of the argument she had with Shiki—that horrible, ridiculous argument because Eri couldn’t help but put her foot in her mouth. She remembers how she didn’t get to apologize for it for over three weeks after.

 _(Why?_ Why why why—)

Something like dread and horror and guilt and _grief_ is bubbling up in her gut—even though Shiki sits right beside her, even though their friendship is stronger than ever. She looks at Shiki and sees life in her eyes that she thinks has never been there before. Even if she is grateful and happy for it, she is not so blind as to pretend that there is nothing wrong—that nothing has changed.

~~something terrible has happened~~

She only notices that her hands are shaking, that there are tears falling down her cheeks, when Shiki looks at her at last, shifting Neku to lean against the back of the couch so that she can turn to Eri. There’s concern in her eyes as she reaches for her hands. “Hey, it’s all right—“

“What _happened,_ Shiki?”

Her mind is filling with memories she doesn’t have—Shiki leaving her apartment in tears, and the sound of squealing tires from down the street only a minute later; texts, calls, apologies, _pleas,_ unread and unanswered; blood painted along a curb that didn’t get wiped clean before she went out looking for her friend herself—

The call from Shiki’s parents hours later, asking whether she’d seen their daughter, and her entire world falling to pieces in an instant because—

Flowers on a street corner, flowers on a school desk, flowers on a grave holding Eri’s entire _world_ because _Shiki was dead,_ she was—

“Eri,” Shiki says, and now her friend’s hands have moved to her face, cupping her cheeks, pushing hair out of her eyes, trying to wipe the tears away. “Eri, I’m right here, but I need you to talk to me, okay? What’s wrong?”

 _“You were dead,”_ Eri gasps, a poor imitation of speech as her voice cracks horribly, and Shiki stiffens. “You—we fought, and it was _stupid,_ but then you left and there was a car and—“

She finds that words are beyond her, and she only leans into her friend’s touch, desperate for the warm reassurance that Shiki’s still here. It was just a bad dream, something her overactive imagination conjured up to frighten her. (Right? _Right?)_

“I’m right here,” Shiki says again, a few seconds too late, but now there’s a tremor in her voice, too. “I’m not gonna go anywhere, okay? I’m right here, and I’m alive, and I’m not gonna leave again. You’re my best friend, Eri—“

“So why do I remember when you were _dead?”_

Shiki’s quiet for a long time, and Eri's trembling sobs grow louder. The more time that passes, the more details she remembers—the way she couldn't see her best friend's face before she was cremated, the way the casket was firmly sealed at the wake and the funeral. The way she couldn't nestle Mr. Mew in Shiki's arms like she wanted, and how she had to rest him on top of that horrible box instead—

(The way she refused to let her own Shiki Original out of her sight for those three weeks, her very own Mr. Ruff that Shiki made for her in middle school because her parents wouldn't let her get a real dog. Shiki's face had been bright red when she gave him to her, even as Eri squealed in delight—)

Shiki was dead _,_ and Eri was lost and adrift without her, even with her dozens of other friends who did their best to help. Shiki was _dead,_ and how on _Earth_ did she somehow forget this fact for three entire months—?

"It's because I did die," Shiki says, very quietly, and Eri lets out a gasping sob, grasping for Shiki's hands as they fall from her face. "I got hit by a car that jumped the curb, I didn't see it because I was crying too hard. I was going to tell you, I _promise,_ but I—I didn't know how—"

Eri isn't sure how it happens, but she's all but collapsed into Shiki, folding herself into a shaking ball on the couch, squeezing the life out of her like she might disappear again if she lets go. "It's—complicated," Shiki continues, haltingly, her hands in Eri's hair and across her shoulders like they've always belonged there. "Um, there's a game, the Reaper's Game. That you play, after you die. And if you win, then they might bring you back to life."

Eri may not be a huge anime fan, but she's seen enough of them featuring life and death gambles to know that it couldn't have been as easy as Shiki's pretending. "You won?" she asks anyway, because she is selfish, and Shiki's grip on her tightens.

"I won," she agrees. "But I only won because Neku was my Partner, and we worked together to beat the Game Master."

Eri absorbs this, listening distantly to Neku's quiet snores. "He died too," she whispers, and Shiki nods into her hair.

"Yeah. And Beat and Rhyme—we met them in the Game, they were Partners at the same time we were."

Eri's quiet for even longer this time. It's—it's not hard, when she stops to think, to imagine how Neku died. Even though gun violence is all but non-existent in Japan. Even though she remembers nothing about a shooting in the news—

But then, she forgot Shiki's death so thoroughly, didn't she? Why wouldn't she forget about a stranger being shot, too?

(She wouldn't have even noticed, not when her best friend was dead—)

"We're okay now," Shiki says, too bright, after Eri finds that she can't respond. "We all—we got brought back to life, because we won! And it—it even helped us, I think. Neku was a jerk when I met him, but he's doing a lot better now. And I learned that—that I'm good enough as my own person, and it's _okay_ that I'm not a designer, because I'm _myself,_ yeah? I'm not—I'm not jealous of you anymore, and that's really good. So, all in all, it wasn't a bad thing that I played the Game and met all these new friends, right—?"

Shiki is smiling, and rambling, but there are tears in her eyes when Eri finally sits back enough to look at her. "You don't have to lie to me," Eri says quietly. Tears fall ever faster down her own cheeks.

Shiki's face contorts, and then finally, she crumples.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look this fic was gonna be 100% neku pov, but then i had eri feelings and i said FUCK IT. and now the whole squad is gonna get a pov scene go me
> 
> also, Satsuki is a cameo appearance from one of my OCs, who features more heavily in my fic [a world that's so much brighter than it seems](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23605207). Writing this scene for NT actually caused me to write that oneshot as a spin-off where Neku actually gets to finish his sentence about making a Pact. So, the opening scene for World is very similar to that scene above. It diverges pretty immediately, though :) Satsuki's a pretty great OC too, if I may say so - she's gonna feature in at least one more fic!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no warnings for this chapter, but buckle up! next chapter's my favorite, but also pretty rough for poor neku :(

Eri knows.

It was obvious to him from the moment he woke up on her couch with a horrible crick in his neck. He looked around to see his water long gone lukewarm, and a bowl of crackers abandoned on the coffee table, and Shiki and Eri curled around each other beside him, fast asleep, tear tracks obvious on both their faces.

It's weeks later, now, and he still finds Eri staring at him, sometimes, as if she's trying to figure something out. Shiki looks more relaxed than she has, these past months, even if she still looks so very tired. Their hangouts tend to involve simply occupying the same space, a sewing machine and a sketchbook and not a single word spoken for hours. That's okay with him, though. He and Shiki—they don't need to talk to understand each other.

Eri's gaze has grown haunted, and Shiki still pretends that she's fine, and Neku never leaves his apartment anymore without a full suite of pins. The Game isn't always running, and even when it is he knows there's no guarantee he'll see Noise or Players, but—feeling the warm vibe of familiar psychs just beyond his reach…it's comforting in a way little is, anymore.

Eri starts asking them tentative questions, when it's clear Beat and Rhyme notice her watching them as well. It's—it's hard, to have to explain the concept of death to someone who is so very alive. But as time goes on, Neku finds that it's almost cathartic, telling his friend some of the few light-hearted stories from his time in the Game. His failed attempt at Tin Pin mastery, his ramen and microphone and Reaper Creeper escapades that even have Shiki cracking a smile.

"Thank you for being her partner," Eri says to him quietly, one day, when it's just the two of them alone. "She said she couldn't have won without you."

Neku swallows, and tries for a smile, and cannot bring himself to tell her that for most of that first week, he was the worst Partner to Shiki that he could possibly imagine.

* * *

It's not hard to recognize Players in shops and restaurants, when you know where to look.

The first time he notices, a pair of twenty-somethings sprint by him and Beat as they wait for their burger order after school. One of them knocks Neku's shoulder in her haste, but she doesn't even slow down as she and her friend hurry to the counter, gasping out an order of half a dozen cheeseburgers like their lives depend on it.

"Yo, what the—"

Beat's loud and indignant—defensive, always, of his friends—but Neku looks at their pale and haggard faces, the way they have not once let go of each other's hands. Then, he looks at the small array of pins sprawled across his jacket lapel, her hat. The Player Pin is stark against the bright colors of their oddly mismatched clothes.

"Can we get them quickly, please?" the woman asks, and sneaks a furtive glance at her palm. The cashier looks from them to Neku and Beat, eyebrows raised.

"Sorry, we cook in the order we get them, ma'am. It shouldn't be too long—"

"Go ahead and do theirs first," Neku says loudly, and then all three of them turn toward him. Beat swivels on a heel, looking outraged. "We don't have anywhere to be."

"All right," the cashier says, skeptical, and the strangers look so relieved that any doubt Neku has left is wiped away. They come up to the counter to wait near Neku and Beat, nervous energy in every inch of their bodies. Neku swallows his anxiety and turns, fidgeting with his bag strap.

"You guys need any extra pins?" he asks, and they both jump, turning to look at him incredulously. "I've got a stash in my bag, if you want a few—"

"What're you talking about?" the man asks gruffly, stepping forward and frowning at him. He's several inches taller than Neku, and he has to force himself not to back down.

"You're in the Reaper's Game, yeah?" Neku asks, and both their eyes widen as the woman takes a step back.

"You Reapers?" the man asks aggressively, and Beat opens his mouth, looking outraged.

"No, we won _,_ maybe five months ago," Neku cuts him off levelly, already pulling his bag around. "Look, that's a Kinetic Warning, right? You good with telekinesis?" The woman stares at him for a couple seconds before nodding slowly. "Great, I've got a Jack's Knife in here somewhere, it's more powerful—"

"What the hell," Beat says flatly, crossing his arms and looking sideways at these strangers. "Phones, you can't just—"

"I would have loved some help when we played," Neku says, digging through the bottom of his school bag before pulling out his pouch of pins. "All goes well, I'll never need them again, so—"

He finds the one he's looking for and holds it out to the woman, who stares hard at him before snatching it with cold fingers. She pauses, holding it for several seconds with her eyes closed, before she slowly reaches up to unpin Kinetic Warning, affixing the Knife in its place. "Thank you," she says quietly. "So—it's true then? If we win, they'll bring us back?"

"Sometimes," Neku hedges, because while a white lie here probably wouldn't hurt anyone, he's not in the business of giving the dead false hope. "It depends on how well you've scored. You been finishing the missions?"

"Most of them," the man says, and Neku nods. It's Friday afternoon—day six—and the fact that they're still here means they're fighters.

"You've got a good chance, if you can beat the Game Master tomorrow," he says, and the woman exhales heavily, running one hand down her face.

"Here's your order, ma'am," the cook calls from over the counter, and she jumps like she's been electrocuted before she reaches hastily for the bag.

"Good luck," Neku says quietly, and the man turns to him appraisingly.

"Got any more advice?"

"Trust your Partner," Neku says instantly, and then Beat blurts from beside him—

"Keep each other alive, yeah?"

The woman is halfway to the door already, pulling up her phone to check the mission mail and taking another glance at her palm. The man watches her go for a second, before his face crumples into something like desperation as he turns back to the two of them. "She's my big sister, even if she doesn't remember me," he says, his voice choked, and Neku's stomach turns to ice. "I'd protect her with my life."

* * *

"Handing out pins isn't gonna get anyone reincarnated, you know."

Neku jumps badly, spinning on his heel on his way home. Beat's beside him, still, and recovers quicker, taking a step forward as the two of them stare down Kariya on this empty street. “I’m not gonna need them anymore,” Neku says, clenching his fists and forcing himself not to back down. “Didn’t know there were _rules_ for interacting with Players when they’re in Reaper shops. You gonna go chew out that cashier, too?”

“As if,” Kariya scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I’m off duty this week, you think I’m actually gonna _work?”_

“What d'you want, yo?” Beat challenges, taking another step forward, and Kariya’s gaze slides to him.

“Heard Skulls Jr.’s still kicking,” he comments mildly. “Also heard they finally remembered who their brother is.”

“You leave Rhyme outta this,” Beat snarls, and makes to throw a punch, but Neku grabs his arm—

“We won,” he says sharply to Kariya, whose brows only continue to rise. “Last I checked, you’re not the Composer, so you can fuck right off.”

“Sure,” Kariya says, “but our Conductor’s gone missing, Uzuki’s been named Game Master until further notice, and the Composer’s been quiet lately, too. I’m lazy, but I’m not stupid, kid—and a guy who wins three rigged Games in a row is something special. You’re in the middle of whatever the hell this is.”

“Your Conductor got Erased,” Neku says, and Kariya’s eyebrows hit his hairline. “He was playing a game with the Composer, and he lost.”

“And who told you that?” Kariya asks, his eyes flashing. “You hear that from the Composer themselves?”

“Maybe,” Neku says with a frown, and then Kariya flashes into the UG.

“What the—“ Beat says, stepping forward again, but Neku’s eyes never leave Kariya’s form as he circles them on the street.

“Thought so,” he says, tilting his head a bit as Neku glowers at him. “You were nothing special your first week—sure, you’re good at psychs, but plenty of creative types are. What makes you different?”

“Fuck if I know,” Neku snaps, and Beat makes a noise behind him.

“Phones, what the _fuck—“_

"I won three times, like you said," Neku says loudly. "I've got no idea what's going on in the UG, because I got the hell out as soon as I could. Just leave us alone, yeah?"

Kariya only continues to stare at him. "You know, you practically _bleed_ Imagination," he says, out of nowhere. "Only ever seen one Player like it, and I've been around a _while._ Think that's why Kitaniji wanted to get rid of you so badly? Worried you'd be strong enough to unseat his precious Composer?"

"Quit the bullshit," Neku snaps, and Kariya's brows rise higher. Then, he flickers back into the RG; Beat makes a noise of outrage, meaning to step toward him again.

"You know, even if those two beat Uzuki, they won't be reincarnated," he says. "You kids were the first winners the Composer found worthy in months, and their minds don't hold a candle to yours."

* * *

He's almost surprised that it takes him so long to go back to the mural.

It's six months to the day since his reincarnation, and he's finally staring up again at the bright colors, the bold strokes sprawled across the wall in Udagawa. It hasn't faded a bit since he was last here, and he wonders vaguely whether Mr. H imbues it with some kind of UG magic to keep it clean. Or maybe he just comes out regularly to touch it up. Does he bring a ladder to get to the higher areas, or does he have wings like the Reapers? Come to think of it, do those wings even _work—?_

He's stalling, he knows. He shakes his head sharply to try and focus. His headphones are blasting CAT's latest release, and his hands are shaking slightly as he slowly, finally approaches the mural.

He doesn't go to the spot where he died, at least not yet. He's pretty sure that's something he would not be able to handle right now. But he stays at the other end of the mural, staring down the street overflowing with bright colors, and he tries, more than anything, to go back to the calm, peaceful mindset he used to achieve, when he stood here. He thinks about his goals as an artist and how far he has to go—how CAT's creations speak to him in a way nothing else ever has—

Someone's screaming, sprinting down the street behind him—their steps sharp even through his headphones. His breath hitches, and his heart stutters, and his throat starts closing up. He spins to see—

A couple of primary school kids chasing each other down the street, shrieking and laughing as they disappear around the corner. Neku takes a deep, shuddering breath, and tries to swallow down the fear, and turns slowly back to the mural.

… Maybe he'll try again tomorrow.

* * *

He keeps coming back. Whenever he thinks he can handle it—after school, on his way home from hanging out, whenever he happens to be in the area and even sometimes when he's not.

CAT's been a part of his life for as long as he can remember. He's not going to let some—some asshole with a gun and a wicked smile take that away from him.

No matter how much he finds himself missing Josh. No matter how much his life has improved since he won. (No matter the way he feels like he's never been able to relax, not once in these past six months—)

* * *

When he gets to the mural today, Eri is waiting for him.

He blinks at her from the alley entrance. He hasn't told any of his friends outright that he's been visiting—hell, he hasn't told any of them that this is where he died—and he's struck silent for a moment, staring at her. Of everyone, he least expected Eri to confront him about his strange new routine.

"Hey, Neku," she says, that wide smile, always, on her face. She's been looking better than when she first found out what happened. It's good, he thinks. He knows and appreciates Eri as her own person, now—not just as Shiki's friend—and he doesn't want to see her distressed. "What're you doing here?"

"Looking at the mural," he says, tilting his head at her. She's dangerously close to the spot where he died, and he hangs back, the skin on the back of his neck tingling. "I come here all the time. What're _you_ doing here?"

She reaches up to adjust her hat, humming quietly. She's wearing nearly the same outfit, today, that Shiki wore during the Game; it's not as disconcerting as he's expecting. "Just curious why you spend so much time here, is all. It's awesome art, but I see you here, like, all the time, and it looks like it's hard for you. So I wanted to ask what's going on. "

She watches him hesitate so far away before slowly closing the distance, her smile fading into a little frown. "You're my friend, you know," she says eventually, stopping a comfortable distance away. "I care about how you're doing. Just because you're closer with Shiki—"

"It's not like that," he blurts, interrupting without thought. "With Shiki, I mean. You're my friend, too. It's—it's different, with Shiki and Beat, since they were my Partners. But I care just as much about you and Rhyme."

She hums again, leaning up against the wall and slouching a bit so she doesn't tower over him quite so much. "You said you were in three Games," she says, chewing on her cheek for a moment before continuing, "I don't want you to answer if you're not comfortable, but I'm curious about the second one, the one you never really talk about. Who was your Partner then?"

Something seizes in his throat, and his breath stutters for a moment. Even Beat—present for that whole week—has seemed to accept his own gaps in memory as an after effect of the Game, and no one has seriously questioned him about what happened.

It's been six months, and Joshua's made it abundantly clear that he wants nothing to do with Neku anymore. So why does it hurt so _goddamn much?_

"Forget it," Eri says quickly, snapping him out of his thoughts, and he looks up to see her face twisted in regret. "It's obviously still messing with you, it's not even any of my business, right—?"

"This is where I died," Neku says suddenly, impulsively, and Eri stiffens. "I got shot over there, just about where you were standing. That's how I ended up in the Game."

"Neku," she says, her face falling further, and she swallows as she watches him.

"My entry fee in the first Game was my memories," he continues, because the floodgates are open now, and—"I didn't remember dying, I had no idea what was going on when Shiki asked me to make a pact. I didn't even know I was dead until the fifth day with her. It was all pretty fucked up, honestly, but what the hell was I supposed to do? I didn't want to be Erased, I'd do anything to save my own skin back then—did she tell you, I almost killed her? On day two, one of the Reapers lied to me and said she'd let me out if I killed Shiki, and I believed her, and if Mr. H hadn't shown up then it would've been _my_ fault Shiki was dead—and now that Reaper's the Game Master, I guess, which is _terrifying_ because she really did not give a fuck about the Players but what am I supposed to do? I try and give people pins or equipment when I can but I can't help everyone, and—"

"Neku," Eri cuts him off, and then she's in his personal space, concern on her face. She doesn't touch him but he reels back anyway, blinking hard, trying to process everything he just told her and everything he probably just fucked up because—he needed to get it out, he needed to tell _someone_ , but Eri doesn't deserve that, she doesn't—

 _Fuck,_ why did he do that—

"Neku," she says again, quieter, and holds out a hand toward him. "Let's sit down a second, okay? You're shaking pretty hard."

He hesitates before taking her hand lightly, tentatively. She leads him toward the mural, further away from the place of his death—closer to the mouth of the alley. He lets go of her hand and collapses on the ground, his back to the wall, and tries to breathe deeply. Eri watches him for several seconds in silence before sitting down beside him, plenty of distance away.

"Shiki didn't tell me you tried to kill her," she says eventually, when Neku finds his lungs within his control again. Her hands are shaking, a little, and there's a tenseness to her face that wasn't there before. "But she _did_ tell me you saved her life more than once, and that she was your Fee in your second Game. From what you guys told me, that meant she was the most important thing in the world to you right then, right?"

"Yeah," he says, and when he glances up, there's a wobbly smile on her face again.

"I also want to tell you," she continues, "before—before she met you, Shiki was really good at pretending. She even had me fooled for a long time—she's so scared, all the time, of a lot of things, and she never thought she was good enough, because she was always comparing herself to me, you know? And I know you don't have anything to compare it to, but she's doing so much better now than she was before. She's—she's still scared, but she's not bottling it up so much anymore, and she's talking to me, or you, or Beat or Rhyme if there's something bothering her. And—and I think you're part of the reason why she changed, so I want to say thank you."

"I didn't care about her at all for most of that week," he says, even quieter, and looks intently at his shoes. "I was a jackass, I was the worst possible Partner to her, it's a miracle we survived—"

"I know you changed, too," Eri says gently. "You're a good person, and you've always been kind ever since I met you. And anyway, I have it on good authority that Shiki doesn't hold any of it against you, so don't beat yourself up, okay?"

He swallows, and clenches his fists, and can't meet Eri's eyes. "His name was Joshua," he whispers, after several seconds longer, and Eri cocks her head.

"Your Partner?"

"Yeah. He, um, it's really complicated. He's… kind of a god in the UG, but he was pretending to be human to act as my Partner, for some reason. And, um."

He glances up to Eri briefly before his courage fails him again. "He's the one who killed me."

Eri doesn't say anything for several seconds, and when he chances another look up at her, her face is twisted with something like rage. When she speaks, though, her tone is remarkably calm. "But you care about him anyway," she says—not asks, but Neku nods. "Why?"

That—it's a simple question and a simple answer, but it's one that's almost impossible to describe to someone who's never played the Game. He fiddles with his fingers, and stares at the pavement, and tries to find the right words to explain. "He was my Partner," he says eventually. "I changed, because of the Game, and Josh was a part of that."

"But he—"

"I know," he cuts her off, and manages to hold eye contact for a couple of seconds before breaking it off again. "I know. It's just—the Pact… It's something I can't really explain. All three of my Partners gave me a different outlook on life, and Josh was just as important for that as Shiki and Beat were."

They're both quiet for a while; Eri shifts a couple inches closer to him. "You miss him?" she asks quietly, and Neku nods, a little.

"It's weird, because—because he actually killed me _twice,_ again at the end of my third Week, but then he brought all four of us back to life. Even though I lost his last Game, and Shiki and Beat were my Fee, and Rhyme had been Noise for almost three weeks. We're all still here, and he never told me _why,_ so I'm just." He waves a hand out vaguely toward Eri, the mural, the city. "Trying to do what I can."

Eri nods, in his peripherals; they're quiet for several moments longer. "You know," he says suddenly, the words spilling out as he looks past her, down the alley to the place where he died. "Beat and I were here a lot, in our Week. But there were never any flowers, or a memorial, or anything."

Eri's face falls into a frown, but she says nothing; after a second, Neku continues—"When Beat and I were at the underpass, where he and Rhyme died, there were flowers, and pictures, and things—the whole shebang, you know? And Shiki never told me where she died, but I know _you,_ so I know there had to have been flowers there. But me…"

He trails off, and chews on his tongue, and digs his fingernails into his palms. "As far as I can tell, no one gave a shit that I was gone."

Eri’s hand jerks, like she wants to reach out for him. “It’s different now,” she says quietly, pulling her hand back and gripping her wrist tightly. “I know your parents are horrible, but you have friends now, right? We care about you, a _lot._ You won’t go back to how things were before.”

“I know,” Neku says, and hesitates, watching Eri’s hands as they tremble. He reaches out tentatively to take one of them in his own. “I really, _really_ appreciate that. It's just… Hard to think about, that if I lost _any_ of those games, I'd be gone forever, and no one would have cared."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is what inspired me to write this fic in the first place, but it's also me sorting out a lot of My Own Shit so, uh, please mind the warnings
> 
> chapter warnings: shitty parents; minor character death; pov description of an autistic meltdown; harmful stimming (scratching)

"Hey, mom?"

He's been gearing himself up for this for days, ever since his talk with Eri. He's tried to rationalize with himself, that maybe there wasn't a memorial because it was a murder scene under investigation. Maybe reality shifted around it, some, because Joshua was involved. His friends' deaths were true accidents, probably stuff the UG deals with all the time. But maybe, when the Composer's there—

"Yes, Neku?"

His mother barely looks up at him from her after-dinner tea. It's Friday evening, a rare long weekend where both his parents are home, and he chose this day specifically for that reason. He wants to know how each of them responds.

"I want to know… What would you do if I died?"

She looks up sharply at him, then, and his dad frowns as well as he looks up from his phone. "What's this about?" he asks, his brows furrowing as he takes another sip of his own tea.

"I just… I've been wondering. I've been thinking about my friend who died, and—and there's been some stuff in the news that got me thinking—"

"It's not something we'll need to worry about," his mother says, briskly, and sets down her mug with a _clink._ "You're not going anywhere, I guarantee it. We've invested too much in your education to lose you now."

His father nods, beside her, and a sinking pit is forming in Neku's gut. "Would you be sad?" he presses, terrified of the answer but unable to stop himself. "If I—if I got hit by a car, or fell off a bridge, or—or got _shot,_ or—"

"Don't say ridiculous things like that," his father snaps, turning back to his phone, and doesn't answer the question. Neku's hands begin to shake.

"I thought you were past that boy's death," his mother says, a frown on her face as she peers at Neku. "Where did this come from?"

He doesn't have his headphones or MP3—his parents have harped on him one too many times about how rude it is to wear them at the table. He doesn't have his keys, or wallet, or even his phone. But he can't—"I need to go," he chokes out, his chair screeching as he shoves it back and pushes himself upright. "I—I need to go."

His mom shouts something after him, but he doesn't hear a word of it. He's out of the building and down the street before he's able to breathe again.

* * *

It's well into winter, now, and even if Shibuya is tepid at worst, the sun has set—he didn't think to grab a coat on his way out—he's shaking so badly with adrenaline that the thought of running further makes him want to puke.

He keeps moving anyway. His parents won't understand, even if they catch him and demand answers. (If they bother to chase him at all—)

He's running on numb legs with his arms wrapped around himself and tears streaming from his eyes. There's hardly anyone out, which is good, probably. He doesn't know what state he's in, only that it isn't good, and he's sure people would think he's crazy if they saw him—

He runs north, blindly, because that's where his feet take him, and he finally stops to breathe in a park, collapsing on a bench. It's—it's nearing true dark now, the last bits of dusk fading, and he realizes distantly what a horrible idea this all was. He—he thinks he knows where he is, and how to get back (or even how to get to Eri's, take her up yet again on an offer to crash in her brother's room) but he doesn't have his phone, and he doesn't have his ID, and—

 _"No!_ No no no, _fuck,_ you can't—"

The voice is sharp and hysterical and coming from maybe a hundred yards behind him. He jumps back to his feet, his breathing escalating as he spins to see something grayscale and anachronistic and _far too familiar_ fizzling out, near the street.

There's only one figure standing there when it disappears, and horror rises in his throat as he takes off in that direction.

"Michi! Michi, come _back—"_

Neku stops several feet from the woman, breathing hard, trying to figure out what to say. What he even _can_ say, when—

_"Michi!"_

The woman sobs, then, both hands flying to her mouth as she stares around the deserted street. "Fuck, _fuck_ , we were _so close—"_ and then she turns around—

And stares right at Neku, who shrinks back from her hysterical gaze. "You the Reaper who killed Michi?" she demands, her voice rising, and Neku's eyes widen further.

"No I just—I heard you screaming, so I—"

"So what, you're another Player?" she cuts him off, taking a step closer to him. "Where's your Partner—?"

"I'm not—not in the Game," he chokes out, and wonders how many seconds this woman has left to live, whether he's going to watch her dissolve before his very eyes, just like Sota. "I won, _months_ ago, but I can still see the UG, I don't know why—"

"Then why didn't you _help us?"_ she asks, her voice rising even more, and Neku shakes his head again, taking another step back. "Michi, she was—we just got done with the mission, but she wanted to practice some more on the new pin she got, but then—then—" She sobs, both hands flying to her mouth again. "Then she—"

"I'm sorry," Neku whispers, and finds that his own hands are shaking beyond his control. This woman—she's middle aged, maybe, pallid and exhausted from six days in the Game. Without a Partner, her minutes are numbered—

"They said we can't fight without a Partner," she says, cutting into his thoughts and threading fingers through her hair. "What am I supposed to do? There's only—there's only one other pair left, last we heard at least, and they're—they're _kids_ , I can't just ask them to _protect_ me—"

"You—you get Erased without a Partner," Neku says, digging his fingernails into his palms and not even trying to keep his voice level. "I'm sorry, you—you only live seven minutes without—"

She stares at him with wide, horrified eyes. "No," she says, her voice pitching up again. _"No,_ we were so close—"

"I'm—"

"Make a pact with me!" she demands, stepping into his personal space and grasping for his shoulders. "You can see me, so be my new Partner—I need to win, I need to come back to life—"

Her frigid, terrified grip sends full-body tremors through him, and he tries to twist away. Her hold is too strong, and his breath comes choppier. "I can't," he rasps, looking anywhere but her face as her grip only tightens. "I can't, I'm still alive—"

"I can't be Erased!" she screams at him, and he tries to shrink back. "My daughter, she needs me, I can't leave her by herself—"

"I'm sorry," Neku breathes, tears filling his eyes as he tries again to pull away. "I'm sorry—"

She screams again, dropping her grip on him and falling to her knees on the sidewalk. "Eiko, honey, I'm so sorry," she sobs, gripping at her hair and curling in on herself—and then she fizzles out of existence.

* * *

He is on Cat Street, and it's deserted. It's pitch black outside, and he has no idea how he got here.

WildKat's lights are off, and the door is locked. He starts banging on it anyway, hard enough that his fists twinge with pain. He does not know what he's doing, only that he is desperate to be with someone he knows. Mr. H is here, and he knows Mr. H, and so—

What is he doing here? What is he doing at all? Why does he even _bother—_

That woman's screams echo in his ears, and his parents' disinterested gazes are seared into his eyelids, and tears are spilling hot and fast over his cheeks, and he can't—he _can't_ —

(When did he start crying? When did he—)

He's banging on the door to WildKat, and then his fists fly through empty air instead. "Woah, kiddo," a familiar voice says, surprised, and something pink and black blurs into some semblance of focus before him. "Phones? What's wrong?"

He shakes his head violently, stumbling forward as a new bout of tears starts in earnest. "Hey, hey," Mr. H says, pulling the door wide and stepping aside to give him space. "What's gotten into you? It's late, you should be at home—"

He shakes his head again, hard enough that he gets dizzy from the movement. Mr. H is quiet for several seconds as Neku stares at the floor of this dark café, feeling as if he's vibrating right out of his body. "Let's sit down, okay?" Mr. H says, his tone suddenly soft, soothing. Neku does not have the presence of mind to wonder why. "How about the corner booth over here? I'll get you some water."

Neku blinks, and then he is situated in the booth—his back wedged into the angle. The enclosed corner feels safe, and good, and he slowly settles back into the cushions, pulling his knees up to his chest. "Here you go," Mr. H says, and puts a glass of ice water down gently on the table, even though Neku is pretty sure he's never once left his side. "Hey, can I get something for you to fidget with? You're scratching up your arms pretty good, that's not safe."

Neku might nod; he's not sure. He didn't even know he was scratching. But then he blinks, and there's a wide array of—things—on the table in front of him. Through his still-blurry vision and heaving sobs, it's hard to make out their details. "Not sure what you like," Mr. H says, his tone still level and calm, "so let me know if you'd prefer something else, okay?"

He blinks again at the stuff on the table before him, and it slowly starts coming into focus. Plastic and metal things with moving parts, and a couple others that look like they might squish in a way his brain likes. He reaches with shaking hands for a small, rubbery ball, and tentatively starts picking at the spines covering its surface.

"That's great," Mr. H says, a smile in his voice. "That's a good one, yeah?"

He nods, distantly, squishing the ball briefly between his fingertips before going back to pulling at the spines. It doesn't quite satiate the same urge that scratching does, but—but it's still good, and even now, he knows scratching until he bleeds just to feel the stimulation isn't good or healthy. The ball is—it's a new sensation, and it's good, and he stares at it intently as he plays with it with trembling hands.

"Do you want me to turn the lights on?" Mr. H asks quietly, and Neku jumps, startled from his trance. He doesn't know how much time has passed, but Mr. H hasn't moved from his seat at the edge of the booth. "It's pretty dark in here, yeah?"

He hesitates only a moment before shaking his head. It's—it's dark, but he thinks the lights would be worse. Things might feel more real if the switch got flipped. "Okay," Mr. H says instantly, "no problem. Now, I don't need to touch you for this, but can I get you to work on your breathing with me? I'm worried about that. It hasn't gotten much better since you got here."

Neku considers this. He's still crying, but he feels like his breaths aren't as choppy as they were when he arrived. But—yeah, he thinks that if Shiki were here, she'd be concerned, too. He doesn't want to worry Shiki, or Mr. H. He nods slowly, and Mr. H smiles.

"Great. I'll breathe with you, so if you get lost, just pay attention to me, okay? Now, breathe in for one, two, three, four…"

* * *

He's doing his best to take deep breaths like Mr. H wants, and his tears are no longer accompanied by hysterical, heaving sobs, and he has not once let go of the small, rubbery ball with the spines.

"You're doing great, Phones," Mr. H says. Though Neku has not looked up at him once this whole time, he can hear a smile in his voice. "Now, I have a couple other things I think might help you, but I'll need to go into the back room for them, since no one's used them in a while. Is it okay if I leave for a minute? I'll be right back, sixty seconds maximum."

Neku nods slowly, looking over the other—fidget toys, Mr. H called them—on the table before him. There's one that's made up of different colored plastics with a rubbery surface and articulating joints. It looks very interesting, and he stares at it for several seconds.

"Great," Mr. H says, and groans as he gets up out of the booth. "Knock on the table if you need anything, okay?"

He doesn't ask him to "yell," or "holler" if he needs anything. He understands that Neku is so far beyond words now—will be for the rest of the night, and probably into tomorrow—and he swallows down a sudden lump in his throat as best he can, reaching for the articulated plastic.

It's a good feeling, too, and he twists it around his fingers intently. He can make it into something approximating a ball, or a simple long loop, or—or spiral the pieces as tight as they can go, leaving him with not-quite-five small loops stacked on top of each other—

"Ahh, the tangle's a household favorite," Mr. H says, a laugh in his voice as he approaches the booth again. "Glad you like it, too—it's real good for getting that nervous energy out."

Does Mr. H use fidget toys? Neku has never met another person whose brain misfires like his does. He nods distantly, wipes at his eyes with one wrist, and then continues twisting the tangle on itself.

"So, I got you a pillow so your knees don't get banged up," Mr. H says, holding it out, and Neku blinks, finally looking up. His gaze doesn't go any further than waist height, where Mr. H is holding the pillow, but it's an improvement, and he takes it slowly. He's right, he realizes. With the way his feet are up on the booth, his knees close to his chest, his shins are getting sore against the table edge. He slots it carefully between them, and melts into the corner a little more.

"Great," Mr. H says with another audible grin, and then shifts the larger load he's carrying over one arm. "Now, this other thing—it's a weighted blanket, to go over your shoulders, or onto your lap, whichever you prefer. I have it on good authority that it's real calming, makes you sleepy too. You wanna give it a try?"

Neku blinks, and shifts his gaze back to the blanket over Mr. H's arm. It's a nondescript gray—more details are difficult to see in the dark—but he considers the concept, and decides that he likes it. He nods.

"Great," Mr. H says. "It's kind of heavy, so it'd probably be easier if I put it over your shoulders for you. But if you're not comfortable with that, you can situate it yourself."

Neku hesitates before holding out his hands for the blanket. His right still holds the tangle and the rubber ball, and Mr. H offloads the blanket gently into his arms.

Neku staggers under the weight, and then he drops the fidget toys in the process. They both bounce into the darkness under the table.

The blanket falls to the booth beside him, and sobs are tearing up Neku's throat before he can even think to stop them. "Hey, it's no problem," Mr. H says instantly, calmly, stooping momentarily before standing up again, both toys in his hand, neither the worse for wear. "No harm done, right?"

Neku knows this. It's _ridiculous_ , to cry about dropping a couple of toys on the ground (especially when two Players got Erased just hours ago, especially when—)

But his fragile mindset _cannot deal with this_ right now, and his sobs only increase in volume. He tucks his head into his knees, gripping at the pillow, and cannot stop hyperventilating.

"C'mon, Neku, breathe with me," he hears Mr. H say, when he has some control over himself again. He does not know how much time has passed. "You're gonna be just fine. Your brain's gonna come down when it wants to, and I'm gonna be with you until it does, so don't worry about a thing, all right? Your parents aren't gonna find you here. You _know_ I won't let the Noise anywhere near you. All we've gotta focus on is getting your panic under control, yeah?"

There is a heavy weight over his shoulders that was not there before, though Mr. H has not moved from his seat opposite Neku in the booth. "Is the blanket helping at all?" he asks, when he realizes that Neku can hear him again. "If not, we can lose it, no problem."

But the weight is—it's comforting, in a strange and new way. Neku lets go of the pillow slowly to grip at the edges falling down his arms, and pulls the blanket tighter around himself even as his tears do not lessen. "Great!" Mr. H says with another grin, and settles himself more comfortably into the booth. "So, it's kinda hard for me to tell, so I want to ask you outright. Is it helping you stay focused on the present, that I'm talking at you? If it's just annoying, I don't want to bug ya. But I'm happy to chatter on about whatever floats your boat."

Neku blinks, because—hearing another person's voice, it's novel and good. He's always dealt with these—these _episodes_ by himself, trying (failing) desperately not to cry too loudly and irritate his parents further.

Here, he has not worried once about how loud he's crying, or whether he's annoying Mr. H. He feels safe and protected here, in this café with the shitty coffee and the wonderful blanket and, maybe, the first adult he's ever met that he can trust without question.

Having an external voice to listen to beyond the spiraling in his own mind—it's good, and calming, in a way he can't really describe. He nods as emphatically as he dares, wiping again at his eyes, still trying to get his breathing back under control.

"Sounds good," Mr. H says, and when Neku blinks there's a steaming mug on the table before each of them. When he sniffs at his own warily, he can tell that it's hot chocolate—the smell perfectly balanced, near-divine in a way he's never experienced before. The temperature is perfect for drinking. "Careful not to spill it," Mr. H says, though it sounds more automatic than actually worried. Neku finds that even though his hands are trembling beyond his control, he doesn't spill a single drop as he picks it up. "So, I hear you're a big fan of my work, yeah? I was wondering if you wanted to take a sneak peek at my latest mural concept. It's nothing special, not yet, but—"

Mr. H keeps talking, a steady stream of noise that washes over Neku as his breathing starts, finally, coming under his control again. He's pulled out a tablet and a sketchbook from nowhere, gesturing to different motifs and color swatches as he debates different ideas. In any other situation, Neku would be falling over himself to pay attention and take notes because _CAT himself is talking to him about art—_

But right now, Mr. H's voice is just soothing background noise to the way he's trying to breathe. He continues to get tears all over this amazing blanket, and sips at his cocoa, and does his best to count in for four, hold for four, and out for six.

And at some point, when the cafe is still dark and Mr. H has moved on to discussing his latest album release—a new foray into punk rock—Neku finally falls asleep.

.

.

* * *

.

.

"Fancy seeing you here, Boss."

He stands in the middle of WildKat, considering the scene before him. All of the lights are off, and CAT's latest album is playing quietly on the overhead speakers. His rogue Producer is sitting at the edge of the corner booth, a tablet pen between his teeth and charcoal in his hands as he works in his sketchbook.

But across from him is his Proxy, fast asleep, bundled in a familiar weighted blanket, an array of fidget toys on the table before him. Sanae has carefully placed an MP3, the latest CAT limited edition headphones, and a fresh sketchbook within his reach. The glass of water that has been sitting there for hours is still full to the brim with ice.

"The city's Music was out of tune," he says eventually. He is maintaining his Composer form, both because it is more comfortable, and because his Proxy—should he wake—does not need to see him here. Neku may be able to see the UG, but the Composer's frequency is far beyond even him. "It wasn't hard to trace."

Sanae hums, setting the tablet pen down before taking a sip of his personal blend (burnt, perpetually too hot, and maybe it's the reason the Composer hates coffee, or maybe Sanae gives himself too much credit). "Meltdowns are a hell of a thing," he says eventually. "Phones's been having a bad time, lately. You know, his friends have been bugging me about how to help him, yeah? Even Shiki's other friend, the tall one—she came here on her own the other day, demanding to know where _you_ were and whether I'd bet against you in a fight."

This is indescribably funny, even to the Composer. "Neku certainly has found some interesting friends," he says, a giggle in his voice. Sanae rolls his eyes.

"He counts you among them, you know," he says, his voice growing deeper as he drops the cheerful act. "The longer you avoid him, the worse off he's gonna be. I thought the whole reason you reincarnated him was to see the city flourish, but that isn't gonna work if you don't help him recover. He can't do this on his own."

The Composer quiets, considering the two figures before him. He does not frown. "That's my blanket," he says eventually, and Sanae cocks his head.

"Sure is," he says easily. "I'm glad to see it get more use, personally. It's been a few years since you've needed it."

Neku huddles deeper into the blanket, turning his nose into the fabric in his sleep. His sigh is deep and exhausted. "You owe it to him," Sanae says, turning back to the Composer with a frown. "You upended his entire life for your own purposes. The least you can do is help him move forward."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hanekoma is Best Dad and you can't change my mind
> 
> look, angels understand autism ok, i don't make the rules


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i probably could have made this 2 separate chapters but,,,, i love it all too much and thematically it works better together so here, have an 8k word chapter!!
> 
> chapter warnings: shiki has what's probably considered an anxiety attack in her pov scene. last chapter is discussed (shitty parents, character death, meltdown) but not too in depth? mostly we're finally at the Comfort part of the fic and i am HERE FOR IT

Something is very, very wrong.

Shiki is no stranger to fear, to overreaction, to unfounded worries that her mind comes up with. She isn’t going to pretend she’s always able to tell what’s real and what’s made up by her brain, but tonight, she’s absolutely certain that the pit in her gut isn’t without cause.

She’s never been able to explain the Pact, even to Eri, even to _Neku._ None of the others have fared any better. But she sees the edge to Beat’s expressions, the way he keeps checking his phone, looking for a text from their missing friend, and she knows that he feels it too.

They were supposed to hang out at Eri’s at seven tonight before going to a movie’s midnight showing. It’s way past ten, now, with no word from Neku explaining why he didn’t show.

"He's fine," Beat says, all bravado and bluster. "It's Phones, yeah? He'll show up when he wants to."

Except Neku is notoriously punctual for all of their meetups—if he's going to be late, he tells them all well in advance. Except Shiki is sure that Neku has never been _fine,_ not once since she met him and maybe not even before.

"I'll try calling him again," she says, for the third time in the last half an hour, and Rhyme puts a hand over hers.

"He probably doesn't have his phone," they say gently, and Shiki knows they’re right even as she feels her heart rate pick up.

"What else are we supposed to _do?"_ she asks, her voice shrill. "He's not—he _never_ leaves without his phone—what if he—"

"Neku is _fine,"_ Eri says. "Maybe his phone d—ran out of juice, yeah? Or maybe he got super focused on something, you know how he is—”

“He hates staying with his parents,” she snaps, “he’d leave as soon as he could—”

“We could go lookin’ for him,” Beat says loudly, leaning forward. There’s a crease in his brows now that, somehow, sends Shiki’s anxiety spiking higher. “There’s not so many spots he’d wanna go, right? Could ask his folks—”

Shiki latches onto this plan, her grip on her phone tightening as she nods. “I’ve met his parents,” she says quickly. “It’d probably be best if I went to talk to them—”

“I’ll come with you,” Eri says, just as quickly with a little frown. “It’s late, we shouldn’t be out on our own, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Beat agrees readily. “Where should me and Rhyme go, ya think?”

Shiki hesitates, sucking in her cheeks as she thinks. Neku—tends to hole up and shut down rather than escaping somewhere. He seems most comfortable at Eri’s place, or home alone when his parents are out of town. Where would he—“What about the mural in Udagawa?” Eri asks eventually, hesitantly. “I’ve seen him there a few times.”

“You think he’d go there at night?” Rhyme asks skeptically, but Beat’s face twists in something like discomfort.

“Worth a shot,” he says eventually. “Text when you talk to his folks, yeah? We’ll see if there’s anything by the mural.”

They split off quickly—Eri needs to remind Shiki to grab her coat and hat before heading out—and their fingers are cold and shaking as they take off down the street, hand in hand.

“He’s gonna be fine,” Eri says, over and over, and she probably means it as reassurance except Shiki can barely remind herself to breathe, remind herself to _think_ around the terror bubbling in her mind.

Neku isn’t answering his phone. He’s _hours_ late to their hangout when he’s never been late without reason, not for the six months they’ve known each other. He’s—he hasn’t looked well, the last few times they’ve met up, now that she thinks about it, even though he promised her every time she asked that he was perfectly fine—

“I’m scared,” she sobs. It’s a new experience for her, telling Eri and the others what’s going through her mind—but it’s not entirely bad. Right now, though, it’s not helping as much as she wishes it would.

(Neku is fine. Neku is _fine._ She doesn’t know who shot him, seven months ago, and he’s never offered the information, but surely he isn’t unlucky enough to be murdered _twice_ in a place like Shibuya—)

“I know,” Eri says, her own voice subdued, and squeezes her hand. “It’s gonna be okay, though. We’re gonna find him, there’s a perfectly normal reason he’s not answering. He definitely had dinner with his parents, so they’ll be able to tell us what happened, right—?”

It’s a long sprint between their apartments, and Shiki is out of breath by the time she climbs the stairs to the third floor. But she refuses to slow down—if Neku is hurt, or in danger, then she needs to—she needs to—

She slams her fist into the door several times in quick succession, only vaguely certain she has the right apartment. “Shiki,” Eri says quietly from behind her, tugging at her hand a little, but then the door swings open.

“What is it?” Neku’s mother asks, sounding irritated, before she takes a proper look at the two of them. “You’re—Misaki, right?”

“Yeah,” Shiki says, not caring how rude she sounds. “Is Neku here?”

“No,” she says, falling all too quickly back into that scowl as she glances between her and Eri. “He ran out after dinner, he was talking about _ridiculous_ things—”

“Where did he go?” Shiki interrupts her, and her frown grows even deeper.

“He’ll come back when he’s ready, there was no sense in chasing after him—”

“You don’t _know?”_ Shiki shrieks, trying to pull herself up taller in outrage, but Eri pulls on her hand.

“What was he asking about?” she asks, and Mrs. Sakuraba looks skeptically up to her.

“He was going on about _death_ , of all things, asking us what we'd do if he died—”

A small noise makes its way out of Shiki’s throat, though she doesn’t mean to voice it—and Eri’s grip tightens. “Do you know if he has his phone on him?” she asks, her voice level in a way Shiki couldn’t hope to reach, right now.

“He’d better not,” she says, "he left straight from dinner, he _knows better_ than to bring that to the table—”

“Okay,” Eri says, her grip tightening. “Okay. If he comes back, could you ask him to text one of us, please? We just want to know that he’s safe.”

“Sure,” she says dismissively, and then she shuts the door in their faces.

Shiki keens, in the back of her throat, the noise in her mind growing louder and more urgent. “It’s gonna be okay,” Eri says staunchly, taking her other hand and trying to meet her eyes. “He doesn’t have his phone on him, so that’s why he’s not answering our texts. He ran off somewhere to cool down, probably, so he’ll come back when he’s feeling better, right?”

Shiki’s hands are shaking horribly, and the tears in her eyes are obscuring her vision enough that Eri’s nothing but a pink blob. The last time she cried this hard was—”Maybe Beat and Rhyme found him,” she says, wobbly, and makes an attempt at pulling her phone from her bag. She doesn’t have any messages yet. That’s okay, she tries to reason—Udagawa’s further away, and Rhyme’s shorter, so it’ll take them longer to run. She’s _sure_ they’ll find him—

She takes a deep breath and tries to steady her thumbs enough to send an update, because they promised, and—

_> >his parents said he ran out after dinnre  
_ _> >his phones in his rmoo  
_ _> >there USELES they didn’t even LOKO FOR HMI_

She stares at her phone for several seconds, but they don’t respond immediately. If they’re still looking, that’s okay. She’s sure they’ll—

 _He’s not at Udagawa either,_ Rhyme texts back, and Shiki’s sob is high-pitched and desperate as Eri’s grip convulses on her hand. _BUT, that explains why he didn’t answer our texts. It doesn’t mean anything worse has happened_

_> >yet_

It’s all she can think. It’s the only thing running through her head right now, because they have no way of contacting him, no way of finding out where he is, and if—if something happens, they won’t be able to find him—if—

 _they said he was asking what theyd do if he died,_ Eri sends from her own phone, and Shiki tries to swallow down her sobs. _thats..worrying_

They don’t respond immediately—long enough that Eri starts pulling Shiki toward the stairs again with quiet promises of looking in the surrounding area.

_> >Go check by Hachiko and 104, you’re not too far from there right? Ask around if anyone’s seen someone with orange hair. We’re gonna see if Mr H can help, Wildkat isn’t far_

They’re both good ideas—better ideas than Shiki could come up with herself. She hesitates before shoving her phone back into her purse, wiping aside the latest wave of tears and trying to steady her grip on Eri’s hand.

“We’re gonna find him,” she says, and even if her voice wavers, her heart is growing strong. She trusts in her Partner, and she trusts in her friends. Eri’s responding smile is watery but proud.

Neku will be okay, if only because the alternative is unthinkable.

.

.

* * *

.

.

“Why did you think he’d be at Udagawa?” Rhyme asks their brother, on their way over to Cat Street. The speed Beat’s set has been punishing ever since they left Eri’s, the crease between his brows only growing deeper with every passing second. They’ve only been able to properly catch their breath when they’re forced to stop at a red light.

“He’s real into CAT, yeah?” Beat says, chewing on his tongue for a second before continuing. “And when we were there, as Partners, he always got this funny look on his face. Startin’ to wonder if there’s somethin’ else about the mural, for him. I didn’t know he’s been hanging around.”

The light turns green; Beat grabs their hand as he takes off across the street. Rhyme revels, for a moment, in the warmth blossoming in their chest. It’s been six months since the Game, but they still feel safer with their brother at their side.

Right now, though, they have more important things to worry about.

The more they think on it, the more _right_ it feels to go to Mr. H for help. He was cagey when they pressed him on his role in the UG, months ago, but he has enough power to save an Erased Player. Enough power to control the Reapers, even, if what Shiki and Neku said was true.

Rhyme’s not sure why they’re still alive, why Mr. H—whatever he is—decided to spare their life when the whole point of the Game is to weed out Players. After everything they’ve heard about him from Beat and the others, though, they aren’t about to question it.

The matter of their strange new ability to read moods and emotions is something they _are_ willing to question, even if Mr. H seemed honest in his confession that he had no idea. "Prob'ly, it's because you spent so much time on the Noise plane, which’s closer to human emotions,” he told them, when they came to visit and ask questions. "You're the first case of that I've seen, so not much to compare it to."

The two of them sprint through Shibuya hand-in-hand, feet pounding the street like they’re in the Game all over again, and Rhyme can only watch helplessly as their brother's anxiety continues to spike higher. Fortunately, it’s not too long before they turn onto Cat Street; Rhyme’s only been here the once, but Beat seems to know exactly where to go as he leads them all the way down the dead-end street.

His face is set, and his grip on Rhyme’s hand is growing steadily tighter. Hopefully, they won’t have to keep him from punching Mr. H if he doesn’t have immediate answers.

“Hey, Beat, Rhyme,” Mr. H says as they approach, and Beat swears, skidding to a halt several feet from WildKat’s facade. Mr. H is standing outside the front door, leaning against it, but it’s difficult to see his face in the dark.

“We need help, old man,” Beat says, recovering quickly, and Rhyme gives his hand a warning squeeze. “We’re worried about Phones, his folks said he ran off—”

“Neku’s safe,” Mr. H says immediately, tilting his head a bit at them. Rhyme’s never been able to read his moods like they can other people, but even so, they find it hard to believe he might lie to them about this. “You kids don’t need to worry.”

“Where is he?” Rhyme asks. “We’ve been looking everywhere for him…”

“He’s safe,” Mr. H says again, and does not elaborate. He also doesn’t move from his position in front of the door. If Rhyme focuses, they think they can hear faint echoes of the music that seems to follow Neku everywhere. It’s subdued, now, a little out of tune—but they’d stake their life that it’s his.

“He’s in there, isn’t he?” they ask suddenly, taking a couple steps forward and frowning up at Mr. H. “Please don’t lie to us.”

Beat hurries to stay level with them, his grip on their hand never lessening even as his own frown deepens.

Mr. H is quiet for several moments. “He’s asleep, and he’s not up for talking,” he says, eventually, and shoves himself off the door to walk up to them. Rhyme can see, now, the lines of worry and exhaustion on his face that they’re not sure should really be there at all. “Come by when we open tomorrow, maybe he’ll be feeling better then.”

Rhyme swallows, even as Beat makes an outraged noise in the back of his throat. Neku’s nonverbal episodes—his—his meltdowns, where listening to his emotions is like trying to listen to every radio station at once—are overwhelming even to Rhyme, even to the rest of them just watching. “But he’s okay?” they ask quietly.

Mr. H considers them. “He’s had a rough night,” he says eventually. “I’ve got things that will help him, but it’s not a magic cure. Autistic meltdowns really knock the wind out of you, if you know what I mean. He needs his sleep.”

Rhyme’s not familiar with _autistic_ , and mentally notes to look it up later even as Beat takes another step forward. “You sayin’ Phones’s autistic?” he asks, skepticism all over his voice. “He ain’t like that one show—”

“Sure he isn’t. He's his own person,” Mr. H says, a little sharper. “Doesn’t mean it’s not the same.”

Beat seems to take several seconds to process this, so Rhyme swallows, bunching their free hand in their sweater sleeve. “Can you text one of us when he’s feeling better, please?” they ask quietly. “And—and we’d like to come back tomorrow, if that’s okay with Neku.”

“I can ask him when he wakes up,” Mr. H hedges with a sideways, considering look. Rhyme inhales to rattle off their number, but—“Nah, I got you kids down already, no need for that.”

That’s...vaguely concerning, but not entirely surprising for someone with so much power in the UG. “Okay,” they say after a moment, and pull on Beat’s hand. “Um, do you mind if I call Shiki and Eri real fast, to tell them? Shiki might want to talk to you, if that's okay—”

“Shiki’s getting the same answer you did,” he says skeptically, but Rhyme shakes their head.

“She’s so scared,” they say earnestly. “We’re all scared, but Shiki—it’s worse, for her. I think maybe talking to you might make her feel better.”

Mr. H’s brows rise as he seems to take another look at them. “Sure thing,” he says eventually, and Rhyme pulls out their phone.

“Did you find him?”

Shiki picks up after half a ring, her voice hysterical as Rhyme moves to put her on speakerphone.

“He’s gonna be okay, Mr. H is taking care of him,” they say, trying to be as soothing and encouraging as possible. “He’s at WildKat. He’s not hurt, he just—he had another episode.”

Shiki sobs, and she yells for Eri before turning back to her phone. “We’re on our way,” she says, and Rhyme sighs.

“We’re out on the street with Mr. H because he won’t let us in,” they say, and hold out the phone slightly in question.

“Phones’ll be just fine,” Mr. H says over Shiki’s objections, something crossing his face that, in the dark, Rhyme cannot recognize. “I just need you kids to wait until the morning to come by and see him, yeah? He’s asleep right now, and he’s not exactly up for visitors. Having people—even his Partners—barge in and wake him up past midnight isn’t gonna help him recover.”

“But I—”

“I’ll tell him you were worried about him when he wakes up,” Mr. H says, “but I’m not gonna let any of you into the café tonight. Get some sleep, I’ll text in the morning when you can come over.”

He reaches up and flips their phone shut, and Rhyme hesitates before slipping it back into their pocket. "Seriously, you kids have nothing to worry about," he says, when they linger in silence for several moments longer. "He isn't the first kid I've helped out—hell, not even the first autistic kid—and he won't be the last. He's gonna be okay once he calms down and gets space to recover."

Rhyme nods, and swallows, and does their best to believe him. "Anythin' we should bring tomorrow?" Beat asks suddenly, from behind them, and they turn. "Dunno if we can get into his apartment for his stuff, with his folks, but…anythin' you think'll help?"

Mr. H tilts his head, considering them. "I'm sure it'd be nice to have his phone and wallet," he says eventually, "but don't put yourselves in danger getting them. I had an extra pair of headphones, and loaded some of my music onto an MP3, so he should be covered for that."

Beat's nodding seriously, obviously committing this to memory, but Rhyme frowns momentarily up at him. They didn't realize he produced music, as well as ran a coffee shop, and…whatever he does in the UG.

"Thank you," they say eventually, and squeeze Beat's hand tighter. "He—he was a mess, when stuff like this happened in the past. I'm really glad you could help him."

"'Course," Mr. H says instantly, and flashes them a crooked sort of smile. "I was dumb enough to get attached to you kids—the least I can do is take care of you when you need it."

.

.

* * *

.

.

Neku wakes with a massive headache, crunchy eyes, and a crick in his neck.

The sun's rising outside, and he rubs harshly at his face, trying to get his bearings. He remembers coming to WildKat, and—and warmth and safety, and a sense of trust that he's never felt around his own parents. He remembers an amazing blanket that, even now, is wrapped around his shoulders. He doesn't really remember much else.

When he finally gets up the courage to look around the shop properly, he sees Mr. H seated in just the same spot he was last night, working intently on his tablet with earbuds in. "Mornin'," Mr. H says—cheerful, a little distracted. He doesn't look up at Neku immediately, for which he's oddly grateful as he rubs at his eyes again with the heel of his hand. "You feeling any better?"

Neku nods, a little, and Mr. H's smile grows warmer as he looks up. "I've got coffee brewing, if you want any—even made you my special RG blend, since I've been told so kindly that my personal stuff _tastes like shit_."

Neku flinches, his heart jolting, and his gaze skitters away from where he had managed to get it focused on Mr. H's shoulder. "Sorry! Sorry," he says with a laugh. "Only joking, I know I'm the only one who likes my coffee. It gives plenty of good boosts to Players, though, so I still sell it to anyone who might need it."

Neku blinks, and breathes, and considers his mental state. "You're an ass," he whispers eventually, hoarse, and Mr. H throws back his head and _howls._

"Been told that, too," he says with a wide grin. "Don't worry, Phones, you're not gonna offend me."

Neku nods, and pulls the blanket a little tighter, and looks down at the table for the first time. There's a few fidget toys that he vaguely remembers from last night, though many of them have been put away. And beside them are a sketchbook with several pencils, a new MP3 player with a full charge, and—

And the latest edition of CAT's limited edition, _ridiculously expensive_ headphones—the ones he's wanted desperately but knows he'll never be able to afford. His gaze flies back up in Mr. H's direction, eyes wide, fingers fidgeting, not sure what—

"They're all yours, if you want them," Mr. H says, his smile softening again. "Got my whole discography on that MP3, including some unreleased stuff."

Neku's breath hitches, and his shaking hands grab for the headphones, almost reverently putting them over his ears. They're more comfortable than his own pair—the ear cuffs are made of something softer, and the noise cancelling technology's improved, and the sound quality is _ungodly,_ when he tentatively reaches for the MP3, finds his favorite album, and pushes _play._

This is—this is incredible, and he closes his eyes for what may be a few seconds or may be a few songs. When he opens his eyes again, feeling a little dazed, there's a mug of coffee in front of him that actually smells good, another mug by Mr. H that smells _horrible,_ and a stack of pancakes drowned in syrup to the side.

"Eat up," Mr. H says cheerfully. "I can hear your stomach grumbling from here."

Neku picks at the pancakes. He's not quite _nauseous,_ but he's queasy enough that his appetite's all but gone. Eventually he pushes the plate away, and reaches to change the album on the MP3, and steals another glance up at Mr. H.

His eyes are trained on Neku, and he blanches, his gaze skittering away again. "You up for a quick chat?" Mr. H asks, his voice casual, and Neku swallows. He's not sure why he's surprised by the question, but he's also not sure he wants to do this right now. He nods anyway.

"It's nothing serious!" Mr. H says quickly, one hand rising as if he could wave Neku's worry away. "Just wanted to check in, and let you know that after you fell asleep, Beat and Rhyme showed up, asking me to help them find you. All four of those kids seemed real worried."

 _Fuck._ They were gonna—they were all supposed to see that movie last night, weren't they? He was even looking forward to it—used it to hype himself up to have that discussion with his parents—and he just— _forgot._

Oh god, he hasn't had his phone since he left—they must have been—

"I told them that you were fine, but I didn't think it would be good for you if they came barging in here," Mr. H continues. "But I was wondering whether you're up for having them swing by sometime this morning."

Neku hesitates. He—he does want to see his friends, and apologize for ditching them last night, but—but having all four of them come running in here, scared and worried and relieved to see him… It seems like a lot, right now.

"You don't have to say yes, y'know," Mr. H says, leaning forward on the table. "I just promised I'd ask, that's all. Or, if you wanted to compromise, we could hang out here for a little while, see if you start feeling better before we get the whole gang in here."

Neku nods slowly. "That one," he whispers, and Mr. H nods, leaning back.

"Sounds like a plan to me," he says, and pulls out his phone, shooting off a quick text before snapping it closed again. "So, I've got some stuff to take care of in the back. It'll take a little bit, so if you'd rather I sit with you, I can put it off till later. Whichever you prefer is fine with me."

Neku hesitates. He—he thinks he'd prefer not being alone, right now. But Mr. H had already done so much for him, and with these incredible headphones and dozens of albums' worth of music to get through, he thinks he'll be okay. He waves a hand in Mr H's direction, reaching slowly for the coffee with the other.

"Sounds good," he says with another quick grin, levering himself upright. "Just lemme know if you need anything, okay?"

Neku nods, and then Mr. H has disappeared into the back of the café. He turns the music up a couple more clicks, still amazed at the audio quality, and then turns curiously toward the sketchbook.

It's empty, when he flips it open to the first page—an invitation to use it, if he wants. It's high quality paper, and expensive pencils, when he leans over to grab one. Why on _Earth_ is Mr. H giving him such fancy stuff?

But it's in front of him, and he was given express permission to use it, so he starts doodling. It's abstract stuff, stuff he barely pays attention to most of the time, but it's just enough of a distraction to prevent him from flying off into his mind again.

When Mr. H comes back, some time later, Neku focuses on the page fully for the first time to see that he's filled it to the edges with doodles. Mr. H whistles. "Goddamn," he says, leaning closer to get a better look. "I leave you for half an hour, and you're already giving me a run for my money! I'd better up my game."

He grins at Neku, winking, and Neku frowns back at him. "What?" he asks, and Mr. H's grin only grows.

"Your drawings, kiddo," he says, gesturing to the doodles before him. "Thats got Imagination _rolling_ off of it, did you know that? Give you a few years, some formal training, and your art career's going places, I guarantee it."

Neku flushes, looking back down at the sketchbook. It's embarrassing, somehow. He didn't even try very hard at it—it was just something to occupy his hands and his mind as he recovers. But CAT is—

He flips the page abruptly, his throat too choked to articulate words but needing to tell Mr. H anyway. _It's nothing compared to your stuff,_ he writes out. _I didn't even try hard on it._

Mr. H waits patiently, then reads the scrawl when Neku passes him the sketchbook. "You know that just makes this more impressive, right?" he asks, his brows rising a bit. "I'd love to talk shop with you sometime, when you're feeling better. If you want to bring in something you _tried hard_ on."

Neku swallows, a little overwhelmed by the offer. "I'll tell you a secret, too," Mr. H says casually, sitting back in his regular seat. "You can't compare your art to mine, it's not fair. I'm not human, and I've had _lots_ more time to practice than you."

Neku frowns at him, chewing on the inside of his lip. _How old ARE you?_ he writes in the sketchbook before sliding it across the table.

Mr. H glances down at it, and laughs. "I don't think anyone knows the answer to that one, Phones."

* * *

Time passes.

Neku picks slowly at the plate of pancakes that never grows cold, and sips at the glass of ice water that never empties, and alternates between absent-minded sketching and listening to Mr. H talk.

His voice is coming back to him, a little. It's some combination of the safe atmosphere, the heavy blanket, and the security of the headphones over his ears. Conversations are hard, but sentences are doable now, with time to rest in between. It's good— _surprisingly_ good. His breakdown yesterday was bad enough that, under normal circumstances, he'd probably be out of it and completely silent for at least a day recovering.

The sun is overhead, now, shining bright through the café windows behind him, and Neku reaches automatically for his phone to check the time before he remembers he still doesn't have it. "What time's it?" he asks quietly, and Mr. H checks his watch.

"'Bout eleven," he says, eyeing Neku appraisingly. "You hungry for lunch?"

He swallows, shakes his head. He's made his friends wait long enough. "Text Shiki," he says, doing his best to make his voice stronger. He's not sure he succeeds, but Mr. H doesn't argue, pulling out his phone.

"You okay with everyone coming at once?" is the only thing he asks, and Neku nods. "Sounds good. I'll ask them for an ETA so we know what to expect, yeah?"

Neku nods again, reaching absently for the tangle to fidget with. It's scary, waiting for them to show up—but they're his friends and Partners. He trusts them more than anything in the world.

"She says twenty minutes," Mr. H says, then, flipping his phone shut. "Got anything you wanna talk about before they get here?"

Neku hesitates, his fingers stuttering on the tangle. Probably, yes, there's plenty they could talk about. But the most important thing is—"Thank you."

Mr. H has been patient with him, the last twelve hours, more than any adult has ever been in his life. He helped him without question, without judgment or hesitation when he showed up incoherent at his front door in the middle of the night. He gave him exactly what he needed to calm down and return to the present, almost like he knew what was going through his head.

"Hey, it's no problem at all!" Mr. H says, his brows rising as he leans back in the booth. "I do care about you, you know. Least I can do is take care of you when you need it. _Especially_ when your parents are such shitbags."

How does Mr. H know about his parents? Neku's one hundred percent sure he didn't say a single word last night. Really, though, he guesses he should learn to stop questioning the rules of the UG and the people who live there. "Thank you," is all he can say in response, even quieter, and Mr. H's face falls.

"Hey, Neku," he says, leaning forward again, his elbows on his own sketchbook. "You know your meltdowns aren't a personal failing, right?"

He must hesitate a moment too long before nodding, because Mr. H's frown only deepens. "There's plenty of other autistic people out there who deal with the exact same thing," he says, like it's nothing, like he's not validating everything Neku has read about online in the middle of the night, trying his hardest to understand English websites because they promised that he isn't the only one whose brain—

"You get pushed past your limits, and your mind shuts down to compensate," Mr. H is continuing. "He'll kill me for telling you this, probably, but Josh is the exact same way—he's had more than a few meltdowns in this exact booth. There's no shame in it! I'm just sorry you've never had support to get through them. Dealing with them on your own has to be terrifying, yeah?"

There's—there's a lot there, and Neku stares at the elbows of Mr. H's shirt, smearing the inks in his sketchbook and probably horribly staining the fabric. "Yeah," he says eventually, because the last sentence was a question, and that's the only thing he could keep track of enough to respond.

"Hey," Mr. H says quietly, and Neku manages to bring his gaze up to his chin, instead. "Your friends have your back, no matter what happens. If you have any questions they can't answer, just ask me, all right? And if you'd rather talk to J about the autistic stuff, I can bully him into stopping by, too. You don't have to deal with any of this on your own."

Neku swallows, and blinks rapidly, and pulls the blanket closer around him. He nods, a little. "Thank you," he whispers, his voice choked, and Mr. H sighs.

"You've got nothing to thank me for," he says, his voice lower. "Don't worry about a thing."

* * *

Mr. H perks up several minutes later, after Neku's gone through a couple breathing exercises and his fingers are tingly from how much he's played with the tangle. "Looks like your friends are down the street," he says. "I'm gonna go meet them outside before letting them in. Is that okay with you?"

"Yeah," Neku says. Mr. H stands with a quick grin, heading out the door.

He can't see the door without standing up, but he doesn't think he has the courage for that right now. So he picks out a new album on the MP3, self-consciously closes the sketchbook he's been doodling in, and picks up the squishy, spiny ball instead.

Entirely too quickly, the bell over the door chimes again, and he turns slightly to see Mr. H lead everyone into the shop. Unconsciously, he pushes himself further into the corner. It's safe, and comforting, and the distress and exhaustion is obvious on everyone's faces as he watches them catch sight of him.

"Neku," Shiki sobs, and his face contorts. _He_ made her feel like shit, it's _his_ fault, and then she continues—"I'm so glad you're okay—"

He blinks as her tears start falling faster, as Eri puts a supportive arm around her shoulders. "I'm sorry," he says, trying not to let his voice grow too small, and Beat shakes his head.

"You don't gotta be sorry for nothin'," he says. Neku's school bag is in his hand, and his fist is slowly clenching around the handles. "We're just happy you're not hurt, yeah?"

Neku swallows, nods. The guilt is still heavy in his throat, and he can't meet any of his friends' eyes as they hesitate, several feet away. "Can we sit with you?" Rhyme asks after several seconds, their voice chipper. "If not that's okay, but—"

He nods immediately, quickly, and none of them waste any time. Shiki and Beat are on either side of him, with Rhyme next to Beat—and Eri pulls up a chair from the next table over so the booth seat isn't too crowded. They're close, but it's not a bad thing—and something tight begins to unravel in his chest as they all settle in.

"We got your stuff," Beat says, putting the bag on the table and pulling it open to show its contents. His phone, and wallet, and keys, and MP3 and headphones—and Neku's face contorts with emotion again as he pulls it closer.

"Thank you," he says quietly, his voice cracking. Did they—did they bully his parents into letting them in? How else would they have—?

"I talked to my parents, too," Eri says, and it's _weird_ to hear her voice so subdued. "If you want to stay with us for a little while, it's no problem. Um, until you feel ready to go back to your parents'."

Neku blinks, and feels his throat tightening up again. Eri's parents barely know him, except as the friend of their daughter who constantly has meltdowns at their apartment. But they're still—

"Are those new headphones?" Rhyme asks, just as bright as earlier, and Neku blinks hard, turning to focus on them instead. "Guess we didn't need to grab yours after all, huh?"

"Yeah," he says, reaching up to touch them briefly, as if they might disappear if he forgets they're there. "From Mr. H."

"Hang on," Eri says, her voice ticking up a bit in surprise. "Aren't those—"

"Sure are," Mr. H says, coming up behind her with a tray of coffees and muffins. "Don't ask me where I got them though. Trade secret, y'know?" He winks at them all before putting the tray in the middle of the table. Then, he retrieves his sketchbook and tablet from in front of Rhyme and retreats to another table, putting his earbuds in again.

"Are they as good as everyone says?" Eri asks, all but starry eyed as she stares at Neku's headphones. "I've got some friends who would _love_ to get their hands on them, but that _price tag—"_

"Yeah," Neku says, and maybe he's imagining it, or maybe a ghost of a smile is growing on his face. Even with the volume turned down so they can talk—"They're amazing."

"What are they?" Shiki asks, looking honestly confused. Eri turns to her, scandalized.

"Only _the_ CAT's top-of-the-line headset!" she says, sounding personally offended that she doesn't know. "The price tag's almost a hundred thousand yen, it's _ridiculous,_ but—"

His friends carry the conversation easily, just like they always do, and Neku wonders why he was ever worried about having them come to see him. Every time he's had an episode, they've taken it in stride—corrected their missteps and done their best to make him comfortable.

It's not like he's usually chatty, even on a good day, so it's not even all that different from if they were just hanging out in any other café in Shibuya.

He pulls his phone out, subtly checking his messages as Eri and Rhyme chat. It's nothing he didn't expect—dozens of text messages from his friends; missed calls even from Shiki, who's _terrified_ of talking on the phone. Nothing at all from his parents, though, and he frowns momentarily before shoving it into his pocket. He'll deal with that later, maybe.

The bell above the door chimes unexpectedly, and he jumps, twists around to see who it is. Shiki leans out from the booth briefly to look, too, but—

It's a couple teenagers just a little older than them, their faces flushed, an array of pins on their jackets as they make a beeline for the counter—

"Hey," Mr. H calls, standing from his small table and sauntering over, giving them his trademark smile. "What can I getcha?"

He takes their orders quickly, his smile turning gentler as their conversation goes on, but—Neku cannot focus on it. These are the last two Players, then, that the woman mentioned last night—

"Neku, you okay?" Rhyme asks loudly, breaking him out of his thoughts, and he swallows, gestures toward the counter.

"They're Players. It's day seven."

Everyone takes another look at the pair of them, leaning up against the bar and talking quietly with each other, going through one of their bags. "Don't mind us!" Mr. H calls, when he sees them all looking. "You guys need a refill? I'll be there in a sec."

The Players don't so much as look up at them, but Neku can see the lines of tension in their shoulders as one of them finally caves, pulling out a silly-looking hat and fitting it over their ears. Mr. H comes over with a carafe and another plate of muffins soon after, and Neku swallows, doing his best to look up at him.

"Can you help them?" he asks quietly, and Mr. H's brows rise.

"Told you, I'm not allowed to interfere," he says, almost half heartedly. "It's against the Rules."

"Didn't stop you with us," Beat mutters, and Eri frowns at him.

Neku chews on his lip some more. "Is Uzuki still the Game Master?" he asks, and Mr. H nods. "If they have time, can they come over here, please."

"Sure thing," Mr. H says gamely, heading back toward the bar.

"Beat, remember anything that could help?" he asks, beginning to dig through his school bag. Yes, there's the pins and accessories he keeps on hand, and he starts separating them out into neat piles on the table by usefulness and type—

"I thought Players were invisible," Eri says cautiously, taking another look over her shoulder at the two of them. "Why can we see them?"

"Some shops are special," Shiki begins to explain, as Beat tries to remember any details that could help them. Neku scrounges in his exhausted mind as well. He remembers that she could heal herself while they fought, which was a real _bitch_ to deal with—

"Hi," an unfamiliar voice says, and Neku jumps badly, looking up from his piles to see the strangers standing behind Eri. "The barista said you wanted to talk to us?"

The boy in the silly hat stands slightly behind his Partner, a girl with six combat pins attached to her hoodie and steel in her eye. "Yeah, hi," Rhyme says brightly. "Most of us are Game survivors, so—"

"It's day seven, yeah?" Beat asks bluntly, and the girl's eyes flicker to him as she nods. "Cool, you gotta beat the Game Master? That's the pink chick, yeah?"

"Yes," she says, and Neku watches some of the tension bleed out of her shoulders. He can't put his finger on it, but there's a _presence_ to her that radiates over the table. "You know her?"

"Sorta," Beat says. "She's a bitch to fight, though. Too fuckin' smart, real fast. Used a gun to get Noise, that sorta shit. She could heal, too. Wanted to letcha know."

The boy swears quietly, and the girl's frown grows deeper. "Any advice on pins?" she asks eventually, and Neku slides one of the stacks toward her, his gaze focused on the table.

"Take whatever you want," he says, slipping his hands back under the blanket. She's quiet for several seconds before she steps forward; Eri stands from her seat to give her more room.

"So you guys won, and came back to life?" the boy asks, hope in his voice, and there's general consensus from around the table. "That's great! Rio—"

"We have to beat Uzuki first," she says, distracted, as she sifts through the pile. "Do you know if any of these boost fusion attacks—?"

Neku turns toward his equipment pile, pulling out a small, horribly gaudy heart shaped bag. "Here," he says quietly, holding it out to her. He ignores Beat's quiet _what the fuck_ from beside him, and Rio takes it, handing it off to her Partner as she starts meditating on different Pins.

He remembers something else, too, and digs back into his bag. There's a memory of Josh bitching him out until they scraped together enough cash to buy—"Take this, too," he says, holding out a glistening Pegaso watch that saved his ass more than once.

Shiki audibly gasps, beside him. "When did you get _that?"_ she demands, leaning forward as if to check its legitimacy.

"Josh was an asshole," he mutters, only half paying attention to what he's saying, and tries to bring his gaze high enough to pretend to make eye contact with the Players. "All-round power boost. Just sell it if you get reincarnated, I don't need it anymore."

"What the _fuck,"_ the boy mutters, taking it with trembling hands and staring at Neku. "They wouldn't even let us in the door—"

"His Partner was…persuasive," Eri says from beside him, forced cheer on her face, and the boy glances to her with a frown before slipping the watch over his wrist. Shiki's face falls in confusion as well, but she doesnt say anything as Rio straightens up.

She's picked out four pins—four of the strongest he's got, the ones that pack the biggest punch and give the best boosts—and she slips them into her bag, pushing the rest of the pile back toward Neku with a nod. "Thanks," she says, this time with a little smile, and Neku nods, allowing his gaze to fall again as Eri reclaims her seat.

"No problem," he says quietly, and works himself up to continue, because this is _important_. "You guys—you're the last pair left this week, so—win, okay?"

She squints at him, her face falling again. "No, there's another pair, some older women," she says. "We've been working together, we were gonna team up today—"

He shakes his head, and he sees both Shiki and Beat stiffen as he swallows, trying to convince himself to continue. "No. They, um. They got Erased. Last night, I saw it."

Rio swears, rubbing at her face, and Neku reaches to wipe at his eyes as a lump rises in his throat. "Thanks for telling us," she says eventually, more subdued. "We'll beat the shit out of that bitch no problem, so don't worry about us, okay?"

Neku nods, his throat closing up again, and pulls the blanket tighter. Rio glances at her palm. "We've gotta go," she says, "but thanks for the help, guys. Really appreciate it, yeah?"

"No prob," Beat says with a little grin, beside Neku, though he can see his fists clenched in his lap. "Tell Pinky that Beat and Neku sent you, yeah?"

She stares at them for a second before grinning back. "That'll piss her off?" she asks, and Beat laughs.

"Oh yeah. She _hates_ us," he says, and then Rio is laughing, grabbing her partner's hand and dashing out of the café. The bell over the door jingles, and then everything is quiet.

"Uzuki isn't gonna like that," Mr. H says, though he's grinning as he approaches their table again, "but that was a good thing you kids did."

"Fuck Uzuki," Beat says, his voice low, and he grabs for Rhyme's hand. "Wouldn't care if they Erased her."

"Now, she's gotten better the last few months," Mr. H says, chiding, as he sits back down at the next table over. "But those kids'll be fine. You felt it, didn't you?"

He's looking at Neku, now, but the energy that got him through that conversation has run out. He nods anyway, looking at his lap. Now that Rio is gone, there's a weird ringing in his ears, like she left something behind in the café. "Wouldn't be surprised if she gets an instant promotion, assumin' she goes the Reaper route. Don't see Players like that much, anymore. Not since you, Phones."

Neku can still feel his gaze on him, so he keeps his head down. "What do you mean?" Shiki asks, leaning forward, and now Neku watches her fists clench, too. "Is this Game rigged against her, like Neku's were?"

"Nah, the Composer's on the straight and narrow after their shenanigans with you kids," Mr. H says, waving a hand easily. "All I meant was that she's got real strong Potential. You saw how many pins she was wearing, yeah? Neku could use six at a time, too. Before him, it'd been _years_ since we saw someone like that. More pins means more Imagination, which gets you places, in the UG."

Shiki frowns at Mr. H, and then she frowns at Neku. "You saw those other Players get Erased?" she asks, her voice softer. "Is that what caused—"

"We decided no serious topics," Rhyme butts in loudly, a frown on their face as they lean forward. "Unless you really want to talk about it, Neku."

He hesitates before shaking his head. Later, maybe. Right now, saying a single word seems too difficult, let alone talking about something like _that._ "Okay," Shiki says, backpedaling immediately. Her face is flushed. "Sorry about that."

He waves a hand at her, touching her shoulder briefly. It's okay. He doesn't think he could ever be mad at Shiki, anymore. "Can I ask a question about the UG?" Eri asks after a few seconds, and then hurries to add, "You don't have to answer specifically, Neku, I'm just curious."

He hesitates, nods, grabs the tangle from beside his empty coffee mug, and turns his music up a little in case he needs to zone the discussion out. "So, what about that bag and watch was gonna help them fight—?"

Mr. H takes the helm of that conversation, slowly filling in for Shiki and Beat as they struggle to explain the mechanics of the UG that they barely understand themselves. For Neku—it isn't comfortable to listen to a discussion of the Game, but listening to the rules of the UG being laid out so plainly is almost comforting. Hearing how different brands unconsciously imbue power into their products when they're designed, how the bag strengthens the Pact, allowing the pair of them to pull off more powerful fusion attacks—how the watch hones the wearer's Imagination to make them stronger. It doesn't make sense, not completely, but Mr. H is a good teacher, and his tone has slipped back into the calm, soothing tone he kept up for hours, last night. It's good, to Neku's brain. He feels his limbs slowly begin to relax, his mind coming back within his grasp.

"So the clothes that Shiki and I make," Eri asks, tentatively. "Would they give power to Players, too?"

"I'd expect so, yeah," Mr. H says, sitting back with a little grin. "Especially with Shiki's connection to the UG, I wouldn't be surprised if your stuff already has side effects. If you're curious, bring something by sometime. I can take a look."

Shiki's eyes are bright, beside Neku, and she's fully absorbed in the conversation now. He's not really listening to the words, anymore—just the voices of his friends, excited and full of life—Mr. H's music pulsing into his skull, vibrant and full of promise.

He is exhausted. His head is killing him, and the tremors in his hands will last at least several hours longer. His words aren't connecting to his mouth, and if he lets himself slip, he remembers that woman's desperate face—the indifferent answers from his parents.

But he's doing okay. He's doing okay, and he feels warm and safe in this café, surrounded by his friends. He closes his eyes, listening to the background noise of Eri snatching the sketchbook from in front of him to get down some ideas before they disappear—Rhyme's laughter like chimes, offering color commentary on how that suit jacket would _definitely_ look better with frills—Mr. H's deep laughter as he sits back and watches the group of them work.

It's good, he thinks. And, feeling more relaxed than he has in months, he drifts off to peaceful sleep on Shiki's shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> only one chapter left!!! thank you guys so much for sticking around!!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also, FUCK IT, WE GOT TWEWY NEWS TODAY I'M GONNA POST THE FINALE OF THIS FIC BC I LOVE IT A LOT
> 
> NO WARNINGS BECAUSE THESE KIDS DESERVE THE WORLD THERE'S ONLY HAPPINESS TODAY
> 
> (also if anyone's interested i wrote and posted an agender!rhyme fic that is just full of sibling fluff like, an hour ago, you should read it bc i love it a lot it is here --> [Color the Sky](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24921439))
> 
> thank you guys so much for sticking around for this fic i love you all!!!!

A text from an unknown number pops up in their group chat, the next day—

_> >Rio and Akio defeated Uzuki yesterday. Rio's a Harrier Reaper now, and Akio's at home with his family. They both stopped by this morning, asking me to thank you guys for the help. —SH_

* * *

They're sprawled across Eri's room again a few weeks later, helping Rhyme and Beat decompress from having their own discussion with their parents. It went better than Neku's did, for what that's worth, but Rhyme's exhausted from having to explain the differences in the way they're treated, and Beat's keyed up from being scrutinized by the parents who've always blown him off.

"They apologized, at least," Rhyme tells them, upon their arrival at Eri's. "They asked us to call them out on it when it happens in the future so they can try and stop."

"Seems like they're trying," Shiki says bracingly, squeezing Beat's shoulder, and they both sigh, long and heavy. Beat's face has been twisted into a frown the whole time.

"Yeah, maybe they'll keep it up."

They sit together mostly in silence, comfortable in each other's company. Neku and Eri are focused on their sketchbooks—Shiki's putting together something he can't make out on the sewing machine in the corner—Rhyme and Beat are leaning against each other, dozing.

"Hey, Neku?"

Shiki's question is unexpected, and he startles, looking up at her. "Yeah?"

"I've been wondering," she says, and his stomach drops as her hands twist around each other. "The other day, at WildKat, you mentioned someone named Josh. Who's that? You've never talked about him before."

His breath hitches, even as Eri stiffens. He—he shouldn't be surprised, honestly. With the way he told Eri everything, weeks ago, it's unfair to keep it from the rest of them. "He was my Partner for my second Week," he says quietly, fidgeting with the pen in his hand before he reaches into his pocket for the tangle from Mr. H. "He, um—"

"It wasn't your fault, Phones," Beat butts in suddenly, completely awake now as he leans forward from his spot on Eri's bed. "There wasn't nothin' you coulda done about that."

Neku blinks at him, trying to follow the thought process. "He got Erased protectin' Neku after they beat the GM," Beat continues to Shiki—and Rhyme, wide awake as well—even as Eri sends Neku a bewildered glance. "He was—"

"That's—that's not right," Neku cuts him off, rubbing at his face with his free hand briefly. "Um, it's complicated. He kind of lied to me about that. He lied about a lot of stuff."

Beat turns to him, skeptical. "You said Pi-Face exploded him! How'd he lie about that?"

Neku swallows. He's not prepared for this conversation, but then, he'll probably _never_ be ready for it if he keeps waiting. He squeezes the tangle a little tighter. "He's—um—he's kind of the Composer. As far as I can tell, he does whatever the hell he wants.”

No one says anything for several seconds. “That _priss kid_ is the Composer?” Beat demands, outraged, and Neku nods, looking down and away.

“Yeah, I found that out down in the River. He told us, but...I guess you guys don’t remember?”

He looks between Beat and Shiki, who give him matching bewildered expressions. “I remember fighting the Conductor in that bar underground,” Shiki says cautiously, with Beat nodding along, “but nothing after that.”

“Figures,” he mutters. “He messed with my memories, too, for a while. But yeah, Josh is the Composer, but he was my Partner, too.”

“Why’d he lie about dying?” Rhyme asks, a frown on their face now, too, as they sit cross-legged next to their brother. “That doesn’t make a lot of sense—”

“Nothing about Josh makes _any_ sense,” Neku says with a grimace. “He was, um, using me as a test? Stand-in? For some game he was playing with Shades. He was talking about destroying Shibuya, I don’t know why he didn’t. He tried to get me to shoot him, at the end.”

He rubs absentmindedly at his chest as he stares at nothing. “You mean in the place we don’t remember?” Shiki asks cautiously, and he nods. “But you _didn’t_ shoot him?”

“He was my _Partner,”_ Neku says again, gripping at his shirt for a moment before letting his hand fall. “So then he shot _me,_ and I thought he’d destroy the city since he _won,_ but...then I woke up in the RG again. Even Mr. H hasn’t been able to tell me why.”

“Wait wait wait,” Beat says, his frown growing even deeper as he leans forward. “You sayin’ he _shot you?”_

“Yeah,” Neku mutters. “Twice. He’s the one who killed me in the first place, but I didn’t remember that until the River, either.”

Shiki swears, something Neku has never heard before. Even Rhyme’s face has gone a pasty white as they all stare at him, clearly expecting some kind of explanation. “What the _fuck,_ dude?” Beat asks loudly after several seconds, and Eri winces, glancing toward the door.

“I don’t _know,”_ Neku says, quieter. “I just—it’s weird, but I miss him? He was a dick, even when we were Partners, but…”

“Neku, he _killed you twice,_ ” Shiki says, her voice unsteady. “It’s kind of worrying that you miss him. Isn’t it for the best that he’s leaving you alone now?”

He sighs explosively, rubbing at his face. “I don’t know how to explain it,” he says. “He was my _Partner._ He helped me become a better person, even if he was an asshole about it. And I—I trust him, you know?”

“Nope,” Beat says immediately. “Nope, that don't track.”

Neku shakes his head again. “I couldn’t kill him,” he says, quieter. “He pointed a gun at me, and said he’d shoot me if I didn’t shoot him. And I knew that if he shot me, he’d destroy Shibuya.” He swallows, chewing on his lip. “I still couldn’t do it.”

No one says anything for several seconds, but the silence is suffocating; eventually he continues—”And—and he even—” he chokes, glancing up between Shiki and Beat before his courage fails him again—”you don’t remember, but he took you two as my Fee, for this last Game. I knew I had to shoot him, or else I’d die, and Shibuya would die, and _you guys_ would die—but I still couldn’t—”

“It's okay,” Rhyme says, their voice low. “You don’t need to explain yourself to us.”

“I _do!”_ he says, and wipes viciously at his eyes. “I do, because I was gonna let you guys be _Erased_ because I couldn’t kill the guy who’d already killed me once—”

“But you don’t regret it, do you?” Rhyme asks. He doesn’t hesitate to shake his head. “That’s the kind of person you are now, yeah? You didn’t want to hurt someone you cared about, even though it would hurt you instead.”

Neku clenches his teeth, and breathes, and finds that he doesn’t have anything to say to that. “I don’t understand,” Shiki starts, her voice quiet, “but I trust you, Neku. I’m sorry you’ve been cooping this up all this time.”

Neku shakes his head again. “I was too scared to explain it to you guys,” he says. “It hurt too much, you know?”

Shiki nods, grabs Mr. Mew from his place by her sewing machine, and hugs him tight against her stomach. “I can’t promise I won’t punch him if he happens to show up,” she says, a lighter tone to her voice and a little smile on her face, “but I’ll at least let him _try_ to explain himself.”

.

.

* * *

.

.

It’s been eight months since they all got out of the Game, but Beat still feels the aftereffects, sometimes.

He’s not stupid, no matter what everyone thinks. He’s no good with books and math, but he’s real good at watching people. He knows Rhyme catches sight of Noise, sometimes, even as they get better at hiding their flinches. He knows Neku’s tells, when he’s getting overwhelmed, when they need to get him out of a social situation or a crowded shop.

And the feeling of being a Reaper—it’s indescribable, no matter how hard he tries. But sometimes, when his attention lapses at school or when he’s falling asleep, he feels power just beneath his skin that he shouldn’t have anymore. He feels heavy iron wings on his back, and he feels Rhyme’s Noise form resting comfortably on his shoulder like they’d always been there.

It’s not good, and it’s not normal. He knows that much. When he blinks hard enough, it goes away, but the fact that it’s there at all is something he worries about a lot.

He knows that of the five of them, none of them are really _okay._ He also knows he needs to be the one to pretend everything is fine. That’s what he’s supposed to do, right? He’s Rhyme’s big brother, and he’s Neku’s Partner, and he’s Shiki’s and Eri’s friend.

(He’ll probably beat the shit out of priss kid - again - if he ever decides to show up, but that’s a worry for another day. He sees the way Neku keeps hoping he’ll show up, too.)

But sometimes, his loud voice and big, goofy smiles aren’t gonna be enough. Watching Neku break down in Eri’s living room at the sound of gunshots drove home the reality of how _fucked up_ they all are, and how much his fists and his voice aren’t gonna be able to help.

(His first thought, when Mr. H finally let them into WildKat to see Neku after that horrible night, was how small and scared and _tired_ he looked under that heavy blanket. He remembers that, and remembers how Mr. H hadn’t let them in the night before because he had looked _worse.)_

Phones isn’t okay, just like Rhyme and Shiki and Eri aren’t okay, and Beat _hates it_ that there’s nothing he can do about it.

(Sure, he’s terrified of cars now, whether they’re moving or parked. He’s rerouted his path to the skate park because he refuses to go near the overpass. He had to run out of the room, once, when a shark showed up on TV. But Phones and Rhyme and the others are hurting _worse,_ and damnit, if he can’t protect the people he cares about, then what the hell is he good for?)

_> >cant make it today  
_ _> >feel like crap  
_ _> >sorry_

Texts from Neku pop in the group chat, and Shiki answers, canceling their meet-up at 104. Neku was supposed to be their model, she says, so going without him would be pointless. Beat sighs explosively. Honestly, even though he doesn’t give a crap about clothes shopping, he was looking forward to getting out of his parents’ apartment for a couple hours. They’re trying to do better, and he knows that. But he can realize that while also being _hella irritated_ that they’re overdoing it on the mushy feelings, instead.

He reads Neku’s texts again, and hesitates—because Phones always uses caps, and grammar, and—and that other stuff Beat couldn’t care less about. He remembers the way that sometimes, when Neku says he _feels like crap,_ it isn’t that he has a migraine or a stomach bug. It means that his head is in a real bad spot, and he can’t deal with the noise of the city or the pressure of socializing.

Beat likes to think he gets it—but honestly, after seeing Neku at WildKat, after watching his voice completely disappear when he gets too stressed, he thinks he doesn’t understand after all. But that’s okay, because he doesn’t have to _get it_ to help him out.

He can’t help Phones get over his panic reaction to gunshots, and he can’t help him catch up on sleep. But he _does_ have a GameCube, two battered controllers, and a well-loved copy of Super Smash Bros Melee. So he texts Neku directly, outside of the group chat—

_> >hey phones. this a bad head day?  
_ _> >ur parents r out, right  
_ _> >i got smash, want me to come over?  
_ _> >we can chill. no pressure to talk if u dont want_

He doesn’t get a response immediately, long enough that he wonders whether he’s off base. That’s okay, though. Neku knows he can just tell him to fuck off without worrying about upsetting him. (He’s still working with Shiki on that one, but that’s okay too. She’ll figure it out eventually. After everything they’ve been through, Beat’s pretty sure none of his friends could ever actually make him mad.)

_> >that sounds nice  
_ _> >if you dont mind_

_> >dude i wanna get outta here SO BAD  
_ _> >gimme half an hour_

_> >thanks beat :)_

He grins at his phone before shoving it in his pocket, hollering across the apartment that he’s going out. His mom pokes her head into his room, frowning. “Will you be home for dinner?” she asks, glancing at her watch.

“Neku’s havin’ a bad time,” he says, reaching to unplug the GameCube’s power cord from the wall, throwing everything in his school bag. After a second, he grabs a few other multiplayer games too, in case Smash gets boring. “His folks are out again, dunno how late they’ll be. Don’t wanna leave him by himself.”

Months ago, he would’ve reacted angrily, loudly, to her question. Months ago, she would have pushed back against him staying out late on a school night. But months ago is not today, and when he straightens up again, he sees that his mom’s face has softened, a little.

“Just let me know so I know how much to cook,” she says. “And if he’d rather come over here for dinner, that’d be fine too.”

“I’ll text ya,” he promises, and hugs her briefly with a grin before hurrying out the door and down the stairs.

Sure, school sucks, and people are assholes, and really, none of the five of them are okay after what they lived through. But he’s got Rhyme, and his friends, and even his parents, now. They’ve stopped giving him so much shit for his grades and started asking what they can do to help, and he thinks that’s gonna help a _lot_ just on its own _._

His heart stutters as a car speeds past him on the street, and he grips his bag tighter as he takes a deep breath. It takes several seconds for him to collect himself enough to keep going. And yeah, maybe none of them are really _okay_ , but everything’s gonna shake out in the end.

He’ll make sure of it.

.

.

* * *

.

.

They go hang out at WildKat sometimes, either to pester Mr. H into giving them his good coffee, or to ask him things about the UG.

Shiki and Eri are the first to show off their work to him, excited to hear a readout on their designs’ UG abilities. “Yeah, that’s definitely something,” Mr. H says, his brows rising the moment Shiki pulls the first one out of the wardrobe bag. He whistles as he takes it from her, looking the sundress up and down. “You made this, Shiki?”

“Eri designed it,” she says, her face flushing as Neku watches with a smile. “But, yeah, I stitched it together.”

“This’d give a Player a good stamina boost, I think,” Mr. H says, his gaze going unfocused for a moment as he considers the dress. “Gonna be honest, you kids are gonna start showing me up. Not sure _I’d_ be able to make something like this, ‘specially without planning for it.”

“You design clothes, too?” Eri demands, bouncing on her toes as her eyes widen.

“Sure, I’ve got fingers in all sorts of pots as CAT—”

The girls’ shrieks reach ear-shattering levels. Mr. H’s eyes fly wide as Neku winces, reminding himself not to surprise either of them. “What?” Mr. H asks, a little warily, as both Shiki and Eri gape at him.

“You’re CAT?” Shiki demands, finding her voice first as Eri only continues to stare.

“Sure am,” he says, his brows rising. “Thought Phones told you guys?”

And then Neku is backing away as Shiki rounds on him, her face turning red. “You knew he was CAT and _didn’t tell us?”_

Neku swallows, and looks between the three of them with a sinking gut. Yeah, it’s gonna be a _long_ afternoon.

* * *

At some point, Neku finally gathers up the courage to bring his own sketchbook in. It’s _weird,_ to have CAT himself critiquing his art. Half of him is sure that he’s going to open it up and immediately start laughing. The other half thinks he’ll have to find some way to let him down nicely, that really, he was just being nice the other month to make Neku feel better -

He stands in WildKat’s doorway today, finally, clutching his sketchbook with trembling hands as he waits for Mr. H to recognize him.

“Oh, hey, Phones!” he says, turning from the stove to grin at him. “What brings you up here?”

“Um, you said you wanted to see my art, when I was feeling better,” he says, his voice small, and holds up his book briefly. He must be imagining it when he sees Mr. H’s face light up.

“Absolutely! Bring it here,” Mr. H says, and he knows he doesn’t imagine the wide grin on his face as Neku slowly walks into the shop. “So I’m curious, what’s your favorite medium?”

“Inks, mostly,” he says, and hesitates a few seconds longer before handing the sketchbook across the counter. “Sometimes I mess around with charcoal, if I’ve been looking at your stuff a lot.”

Mr. H makes an approving noise in his throat, flipping open to the first page. His brows rise significantly as he takes it in, and Neku feels himself shrinking down. This is exactly what he expected—”How long ago’d you start this book?” he asks Neku, looking up at him briefly before flipping through a few more pages.

“After the Game,” he says, trying to remember, trying to shove the anxiety down. “Six months ago? Maybe less?”

Mr. H nods, looking almost impressed as he continues. He pauses on a page maybe halfway through, and Neku could swear he hears him gasp as he stares down at the image.

“Phones,” he says, his voice low, and puts the book carefully back on the counter to flip it around.

Neku’s face flushes as he realizes which page he’s looking at; he forgot this one was in here. He should’ve ripped it out beforehand; he should’ve brought another book entirely; he should’ve—

But the damage is done. Rough sketches of Mr. H and Joshua stare out at him; broad, detailed wings sprout from their backs, and abstract Noise surrounds them. He started that one a few days after his meltdown, with the UG and Josh so heavy on his mind.

“I’m sorry, that’s weird,” he says hastily, snatching the book back up and shutting it quickly, hugging it to his chest. His face is _burning._ “I’m sorry—”

“Nah, kid, that’s not it,” Mr. H says, waving a hand. “I’m just surprised, that’s all. Didn’t know you could see mine or J’s wings.”

Neku blinks, and then blinks harder, trying to—somehow—see into the UG to double check. Mr. H still looks like any other normal human, to him. “I can’t,” he says slowly. “I didn’t—I didn’t even know you guys _had_ wings. It just—it felt right? I was still kind of out of it when I did this one...I wasn’t thinking too hard about it.”

Mr. H whistles, holding out a hand expectantly, and Neku hesitates before handing the book back over. He flips back to the right page, taking a closer look. “Yeah, the details are different, but the shape and the color’s all there,” he says, and Neku _stares_ at him. “Composer wings are white and feathery, but reminiscent of Reaper wings otherwise, yeah? As for me...well, for not knowing what I even _am,_ Phones, that’s scarily on-target.”

Neku looks down at it again, chewing on his lip. It’s a nonsensical design choice, now that he’s looking at it fresh—one blue wing and one red? A wingspan broader than Mr. H is tall? What the hell kind of—

“But even disregarding that, this stuff is _impressive,_ ” Mr. H says, flipping through the pages again. His eyes are bright as he takes in Neku’s art, and he feels his cheeks growing even redder.

“It’s not that good,” he says quietly, ducking his head, and Mr. H looks up.

“Hey,” he says, his tone growing serious. “You _cannot_ compare your stuff to mine, not ever. I’ve been around longer than anyone cares to remember. At the risk of saying too much, I _exist_ for the sole purpose of creating Imagination. You, on the other hand, are sixteen years old, have been human for almost your entire life, and—as far as I know—are _self taught._ That’s nothing to sneeze at.”

Neku grimaces, can’t look up at him. “I guess,” he says quietly.

“Hey,” Mr. H says again, leaning over the counter a bit to look at him over his glasses. “I’m gonna need you to stop being so down on yourself. Sure, your lines could be a little cleaner. Maybe the second eye never quite matches the first the way you want. But the whole point of art is to _improve,_ and the emotion you’re putting onto the page is clear. You keep this up, and you’re going places down the road.”

Neku has no idea how to respond to that, so he stays quiet. “Do you mind if I look through the rest of it?” Mr. H asks, his tone light and almost hopeful, and Neku shakes his head, waving a hand.

They sit in silence for several minutes longer until Mr. H reaches the end; he closes the book almost reverently, passing it back over the counter to Neku. When he looks up at him, Mr. H looks younger, almost—more alive, but less _human_ than he did a moment ago.

“Can I tell you a secret?” he asks, conspiratorially, leaning onto the counter again with a little grin. Neku nods, baffled. “I’m an expert in reading potential in the people of Shibuya. I can tell at a glance whether a Player’s gonna make it through the Game, and whether Josh’ll decide they’re worth reincarnating at the end of it.”

He pauses, like he’s waiting for a response, so Neku nods again. He’s mostly confused. “When Shiki and the Bitous entered the Game, I knew they had a solid shot at reincarnation, depending on how well they played. You were a late addition, right before the Game started, so I didn’t have much of a chance to take a look at you. But as it turns out, I didn’t need much.”

Mr. H smiles at him, broad and honest, as he settles himself more comfortably against the bar. “Your Soul is blinding, did you know that? You’re _overflowing_ with Imagination, even if you don’t realize it. It’s been seventeen years since I’ve seen anything like it.”

Neku blinks, clutching his sketchbook a little tighter. “What happened seventeen years ago?” he asks quietly, curious despite himself. Mr. H’s smile grows even wider.

“That,” he says, his voice low, “was when Yoshiya Kiryu entered the Reaper’s Game.”

.

.

* * *

.

.

Time passes. Shibuya _thrives._

Sanae has the great privilege of watching it unfold from his seat in the Higher Plane, and he could not be more proud. The Game continues, as it always has and always will. Neku and his friends grow, and heal, and spread their Imagination across the city...all of them but one.

But Shibuya’s Composer slowly begins to live again, on his own terms, and that’s a victory in and of itself.

Sanae stands atop 104 with Joshua, just like he did nearly a year ago. “He’s doing better,” Joshua says, his tone indifferent, even as his posture is rigid beside him. “You were wrong—he doesn’t need my help.”

“Sure, he’s doing better,” he agrees, because it’s true. Last week, Neku came into WildKat, excited to show him the art he just finished. That was the first time Sanae saw his Imagination truly reach his eyes. “He still misses you, though. Imagine what he _could_ be, connected to you.”

“He’s my Proxy. We’ll always be connected,” Joshua argues, half-heartedly, and stares down at Neku’s shock of hair, crossing the street hundreds of feet below. “He doesn’t need me to realize his potential.”

“Yeah, but he _wants_ you to help,” Sanae points out. Joshua does not frown.

“Why?” he asks, quieter, and Sanae laughs, low and throaty.

“You’re gonna have to ask him that yourself, Boss.”

.

.

* * *

.

.

Today, Neku takes his friends to see the mural.

Shiki’s never seen it in person, and Rhyme’s never seen it in daylight—and he sees the awe growing across their faces as they look up, and up, and _up_ at the bright colors splashed across the wall. Even Eri and Beat are struck quiet for a moment, taking it in, and Neku feels a smile growing across his face.

He feels safe here, again, finally. There isn’t a shadow over this space like there has been for nearly a year. He looks up at the mural, and sees opportunity; he sees life; he sees _hope._ He sees what he saw the first time, standing here with his friend when he was eight years old, innocent, and bright-eyed—before he’d ever even heard of the Reaper’s Game.

They’re all standing together, toward the mouth of the alley, and he watches the others for a few seconds before walking further in. And then he continues walking—right up to the place where he died. His hands may be shaking a little, but his mind is clear and calm. The fear in his heart is dampened, and he sees Eri smile broadly at him as he turns around.

“You know,” he says, more matter-of-fact than anything else, and Shiki tilts her head at him. “This is the spot where I died. This is the first time I’ve been able to stand here again. It’s…”

He looks up at the mural again, the motifs that’ve always caught his eye—a bird in flight, bright blues and oranges several feet above his head. That particular flourish of hot pink, and that blossoming flower, and that simple mantra— _EXPAND YOUR WORLD._

He knows this mural like the back of his hand, after coming here for years to admire it. Still, he never gets tired of looking—there’s something about it that inspires him to _do better._ He knows it’s Mr. H Imprinting something into the paint, but that doesn’t make it any less special.

He knows CAT now, personally. CAT told him that he cares about him in a way his parents never have. CAT told him that, given time and practice and training, his art could someday rival his own.

He’s not sure he believes it, yet. But he thinks of his eight-year-old self, staring up at this mural in wonder, and thinks that that little boy would be so proud to hear it.

“I’m proud of you. You're different from when we first met," Shiki says in response, quiet, though there’s a smile on her face. Neku smiles back, and he finds that his hands have calmed.

“Yeah, you’re not such a dick anymore,” Beat agrees with a little grin, even as Rhyme punches him in the arm. They’ve shot up in height, the last year—they’re practically as tall as Neku, now. He’s long resigned himself to being one-half of the short squad, along with Shiki...not that he really minds it.

“Seriously, we’ve all changed,” Rhyme says, crossing their arms over their chest and staring up at the mural again. “I don’t want to say I’m glad that we died, but I think the changes were for the better.”

When they leave, eventually, several minutes later, Neku feels like he’s finally ready for his life to begin again.

* * *

“Hey, kiddo!” Ken Doi calls from the kitchen as they all walk in for lunch, and Neku waves a hand in greeting. “Your friend’s here already, in the back booth. I’ll take your order in a second, go ahead and sit down—”

Neku blinks, looking back to check himself. All four of his friends are there, looking just as confused as he feels. “What the hell?” Beat asks, a frown growing across his face, and Neku shrugs. He’s feeling surprisingly good, today—might as well take advantage of it. If it’s some stranger that Ken’s mistaken for a friend, he actually feels up for diffusing the situation. He’s not sure of the last time that happened.

He makes his way through the crowded shop to the back booth, the one they always sit at. It looks empty at first glance, but when he comes upon it and turns to see the opposite side, there’s a teenager with pale hair and paler skin sitting there, scrolling aimlessly on a bright orange phone.

“Who’s that?” Shiki asks quietly from behind him, even as Neku feels himself freeze up.

Joshua looks up from his phone, and smiles in a way that looks almost genuine. He hasn’t aged a day since they last met, in the Room of Reckoning. “Hello, dear,” he says, flipping his phone shut and leaning forward on the table. “You're just full of surprises, aren't you?”

No one says anything for a few seconds; Neku can’t bring himself to work his jaw enough to reply. “What the hell,” Eri finally says, matter-of-factly, and then Neku blinks out of his stupor.

“You son of a bitch,” he says, his voice low, and takes a step forward. “What do you want?”

“Well, I was hoping we could talk, and maybe eat some ramen,” Josh says, raising an eyebrow as Beat twitches, beside Neku. “It’s been a while, after all.”

“It’s been a _year_ since you _shot me,”_ Neku grinds out. “I think we’re gonna need to do a little more than talk.”

"Neku—” Shiki starts, her voice suddenly sharp, but he holds out an arm to stop her. The longer he looks at Josh's face, the more sure he is that there's something wrong.

“What’s going on?” he demands. Joshua laughs, but it’s _wrong,_ and a chill goes down Neku’s spine as Shiki pushes his arm down and away, stepping forward.

“What the hell is your problem?” she asks aggressively, and—of all things—tries to put Neku _behind her._ “It’s been an entire _year—”_

“Things have been busy in the UG,” Joshua says, that wrong wrong _wrong_ smile still on his face as he gestures to the rest of the booth. “Won’t you sit down?”

“Like hell we will,” Beat snaps, but Neku is shoving past Shiki’s arm, all but collapsing into the seat beside Josh and rubbing at his face.

“You have thirty seconds to explain yourself before I let Shiki punch you.”

Josh is quiet for a few seconds. “You stole my tangle, you know,” he says eventually, casually, and Neku watches as he eyes the rest of them. Eri ends up sitting down next, across from them, her posture rigid; Shiki and Beat seem to have no interest in joining them. Rhyme’s hanging back, their face a pasty white. “I would’ve had _words_ with Sanae if he gave you my blanket, but it seems he has _some_ self-preservation instincts left.”

“Fuck you,” Neku mutters, and Joshua laughs.

“I suppose it’s been a while since I used them,” he admits, and starts twirling a piece of hair around his finger in the way that always drove Neku _up the wall._ “If you need them, then by all means, have them.”

“Ten seconds,” Neku says, and digs his fingers into his eyelids for a moment before looking up toward the others. “Shiki, you know how to throw a punch, right?”

“Not even a little bit,” she says cheerfully. “Won’t stop me from trying!”

“You _do_ know I’m a demigod,” Joshua says, something like offense slipping into his tone, and Neku allows himself a quick, private smile before turning back to Josh with his face blank. “All you’d accomplish would be breaking your hand.”

“Still worth it,” she says, her smile growing a little more wicked as she rolls up her sleeves.

Joshua rolls his eyes, cracks his neck. “Sanae will skin me,” he mutters, before he leans forward again on the table. “What do you want me to tell you?”

“Maybe start with why you _killed Neku, twice,”_ Shiki says, her fists clenched at her sides.

“First time was happenstance,” Josh says easily, and Neku watches as Shiki’s face contorts. “Right place, right time, all that. Second time was a little test. He passed.”

“You _shot me,”_ Neku protests.

“Well, it wouldn’t have been much of a test if there weren’t stakes, now would it?” Josh says, a hint of condescension in his tone now. “And I reincarnated _all four of you,_ so really, I don’t think any of you have much to complain about.”

“You _shot me,”_ Neku insists, a little louder—enough that the people at the next table over startle and look toward them. “What was the point of that if you were just gonna bring us back anyway? Just wanted to traumatize me a little more?”

“You were supposed to shoot _me,”_ Joshua says, suddenly sharp, and Neku blinks at him, thrown. “And I still can’t fathom why you didn’t.”

“You were my Partner,” he says instantly, without thought. It’s been his answer ever since that day beneath the River; even now, the thought of Erasing Joshua makes his stomach churn. “I wasn’t about to _—”_

“Well, and that’s just it, isn’t it?” Josh cuts him off, considering Neku for a moment before looking past him, to Shiki. “I seem to remember you trying to kill your first Partner with barely any provocation. What changed?”

“I changed,” Neku says, his frown deepening. “As it turns out, spending three weeks—”

“You weren’t _supposed to change,_ Neku,” Joshua stresses, and finally looks him in the face. He can see Josh focusing on his forehead, just like Neku is his, to maintain the pretense of eye contact. Maybe they aren’t so different after all. “You proved me wrong after all, didn’t you? As my Proxy, you weren’t supposed to get better. You were supposed to stay wretched, and horrible, just like me, and I was supposed to Erase Shibuya.”

No one says anything to that for several seconds; Neku watches as Rhyme’s face grows a couple shades paler. “I don’t understand you,” he says, eventually, rubbing at his eyes again. “Why would you—”

“And I told you, understanding others is impossible,” Joshua cuts him off. “Why do you insist on trying?”

“You’re wrong,” Rhyme says suddenly, and shrugs off Beat’s hand as they step forward. Neku can see their hands shaking from here, and their face hasn’t regained any color, but their mouth is set in a thin line. “Humans change all the time, and the five of us? We understand each other better than anything else in the world. I think you just haven’t tried hard enough.”

Josh blinks at them, his brows furrowing a little. “Ah, my apologies,” he says, actually sounding contrite. “Is this much better?”

The world _flickers_ for a second, but when Neku looks toward Joshua again, nothing seems to have changed. “Yes,” Rhyme says, their tone a touch less strained. “Thank you.”

“What the hell was that?” Beat demands, his hand going again for Rhyme’s shoulder. This time they don’t resist, reaching up to squeeze it momentarily.

“My Vibe is rather high, even downtuned like this,” Joshua says, as if that explains anything at all. “Your sibling is rather... _sensitive_ to that, after their time as Noise.”

“You sayin you hurt ‘em?” Beat says, his tone growing louder as he takes another step forward.

“Now, boys,” Ken Doi says loudly from behind him, and both Beat and Shiki jump. “I hope you’re not starting a fight in the middle of my restaurant, _are you?”_

“Of course not, sir,” Joshua says instantly, that _fucking_ beatific smile back on his face like it’d never left. “We were just catching up.”

“I see,” he says, his face more than a little skeptical. “Well, sit down, at least, you’re blocking traffic flow. You all want your usual?”

“Yes please,” Neku says, loud enough to be heard over Beat’s objections, and Ken grins at him before retreating again. Neku turns back to the booth, then. “Josh, you still haven’t explained why you’re here.”

“I suppose I wanted to see your Imagination with my own eyes,” he says, cocking his head a bit. Beat and the others hesitate before slowly, warily, sitting down in the booth; Shiki grabs Eri’s hand and holds it tight. “Sanae told me it’s stronger in person now, but even so, I’m surprised.”

“Cut the crap,” Neku snaps, and Joshua shakes his head.

“Your Soul has already grown far beyond what I attained, when I was alive,” he says, “but you chose Reincarnation, rather than rising through our ranks. I could have named you Conductor immediately, and no one would’ve argued, but you gave it all up. What about the RG is so _important_ to you?”

“I wanted to live,” Neku snaps. “I’m sixteen years old, I’m not just going to give up—”

“You had no friends,” Josh counters. “Your parents are horrible. All you wanted to do was create art, which is far easier in the UG. So what was holding you back?”

Neku hesitates. Honestly, it’s a good question—something he’s never stopped to consider before now. “Because I wanted to be a part of the city,” he says eventually, slowly, and Joshua’s eyes narrow. “I wanted to help it grow and change on its own, without the UG’s help.”

Joshua only stares at him; after a moment, Neku continues—”You’re wrong, you know, about understanding people. I think you’ve been the Composer too long, and you forgot what humanity’s really like.”

Joshua hums; Rhyme, beside Neku, shifts in their seat. “Well, you’ve proven me wrong once already,” he says eventually, leaning back into the corner of the booth, a small, rueful smile on his face. “I suppose if anyone could teach me to love humanity again, Neku, it would be you. What better time to start than now?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u all again <3<3<3
> 
> if you are interested in screaming about twewy w me i am on twitter [@laoraahh](https://twitter.com/laoraahh) my feed is 100% twewy and politics these days
> 
> shit i typed up a long note and then ao3 ate it bc formatting so, uh, thank yall for reading this fic was a wild ride but i love it and i'm so glad you guys love it too!!! you guys are great!!


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